OFF  ITT  DQ/VAT/O/V 


ESSAYS   IN   APPLICATION 


•ESSAYS 
IN    APPLICATION* 


BY 


HENRY    VAN    DYKE 


NEW    YORK 

CHARLKS    SCRIBNKR'S    SONS 
1906 


Copyright,  1905,  by  Charles  Scribners  Sons 


Published,  October,  1905 


•-•.•,   '.;,- 


PREFACE 

THE  forces  that  impel  action  reside 
in  temperament.  The  ideals  and  con 
victions  that  guide  it  are  hidden  in  the 
mind  and  heart.  A  man  moves  slowly 
or  swiftly,  he  does  his  work  weakly  or 
strongly,  according  to  the  energy  that 
is  in  him.  But  the  direction  of  his  life, 
this  way  or  that  way,  follows  the  un 
seen  influence  of  what  he  admires  and 
loves  and  believes  in. 

It  is  not  easy  to  take  stock  of  these 
controlling  ideals  and  convictions,  and 
estimate  them  at  their  true  value.  It 
is  harder  still  to  arrange  and  order  them 
in  a  system — clear,  logical,  consistent 
— a  philosophy  of  life.  Few  men  have 
the  ability  to  make  such  a  total  state- 


PREFACE 

ment  of  their  spiritual  assets.  Even  for 
those  who  might  be  able  to  do  it  after 
a  fashion,  it  is  difficult  to  find  the  time, 
because  they  are  actively  engaged  in  the 
business  of  living. 

But  every  now  and  then,  in  writing 
or  in  speaking,  a  man  who  takes  his 
affair  seriously  has  occasion  to  meet  one 
or  another  of  the  problems  of  life  in  a 
way  that  calls  him  to  get  at  his  inmost 
convictions  and  to  apply  them  to  the 
matter  in  hand.  It  is  not  always  pos 
sible,  nor  often  necessary,  to  give  an 
elaborate  description  of  his  point  of 
view,  or  to  trace  the  paths  of  inheritance 
or  reasoning  by  which  he  has  reached 
it.  These  are  things  that  will  probably 
betray  themselves,  clearly  enough,  in  his 
work.  Whether  he  be  materialist  or 
idealist,  radical  or  conservative,  optim 
ist  or  pessimist  or  meliorist,  what  he 
has  to  do  is  just  to  stand  where  he  be- 

[vi] 


PREFACE 

longs,  and  to  put  his  ideals  in  applica 
tion  to  the  question  before  him. 

That  which  is  spoken  or  written  in 
this  way  may  have  some  value,  propor 
tionate  to  its  lucidity  and  sincerity,  as 
a  partial  showing  of  the  practical  con 
clusions  to  which  certain  principles  lead. 
And  if,  as  I  believe,  life  is  the  test  of 
thought,  rather  than  thought  the  test 
of  life,  we  should  be  able  to  get  light 
on  the  real  worth  of  a  man's  theo 
ries,  ideals,  beliefs,  by  looking  at  the 
shape  which  they  would  give  to  human 
existence  if  they  were  faithfully  ap 
plied. 

It  is  in  this  way  that  the  chapters  of 
this  book  have  been  written,  and  thus  I 
should  like  to  have  the  reader  take  them. 
I  have  tried  to  touch  on  certain  points 
in  education,  in  politics,  in  literature,  in 
religion,  in  the  conduct  of  life,  from 
the  standpoint  of  one  who  wishes  to 

[vii] 


PREFACE 

be  guided  in  e very-day  judgments  and 
affairs  by  a  sane  idealism.  The  book 
makes  no  claim  to  be  a  defense,  or  even 
a  statement,  of  a  complete  system  of 
philosophy  or  faith.  It  is  simply  a  col 
lection  of  essays  in  application. 


[  viii 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.  Is  THE  WORLD  GROWING  BETTER  ? .    .    .    .      1 
II.  RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY  ....    36 

III.  PUBLICOMANIA 75 

IV.  THE  HERITAGE  OF  AMERICAN  IDEALS  .     .     .     84  * 
V.  THE  POWERS  THAT  BE 104 

VI.  THE  FLOOD  OF  BOOKS 123 

VII.  BOOKS,  LITERATURE,  'AND  THE  PEOPLE     .     .  140 

VIII.  CHRISTIANITY  AND  CURRENT  LITERATURE     .  152 

IX.  THE  CHURCH  IN  THE  CITY 172 

X.  PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 183 

XI.  THE  CREATIVE  IDEAL  OF  EDUCATION  .     .     .  209^ 

XII.  THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE    .  .  247 


IS     THE    WORLD     GROWING 
BETTER? 

No   man   knows,   of   a   certainty,   the 
answer  to  this  question. 

If  it  were  an  inquiry  into  the  con 
dition  of  the  world's  pocket-book,  or 
farm,  or  garden,  or  machine-house,  or 
library,  or  school-room,  the  answer 
would  be  easy.  Six  million  more  spin 
dles  whirling  in  the  world's  workshop 
in  1903  than  in  1900;  eight  hundred 
million  more  bushels  of  wheat  in  the 
world's  grain-fields  than  in  1897;  an 
average  school-attendance  gaining  145 
per  cent,  between  1840  and  1888,  while 
the  population  of  Europe  increased 
only  33  per  cent.  So  the  figures  run  in 
every  department.  No  doubt  the  world 


IS   THE    WORLD   GROWING    BETTER? 

is  busier,  richer,  better  fed,  and  prob 
ably  it  knows  more,  than  ever  before. 

I  am  not  one  of  those  highly  ethereal 
and  supercilious  people  who  can  find 
nothing  in  this  to  please  them,  and  who 
cry  lackadaisically:  "What  is  all  this 
worth?"  I  am  honest  enough  to  confess 
to  a  sense  of  satisfaction  when  my  little 
vegetable  garden  rewards  my  care  with 
an  enlarged  crop,  or  when  my  children 
bring  home  a  good  report  from  school. 
Why  should  not  a  common-sense  phil 
anthropy  lead  us  to  feel  in  the  same 
way  about  the  improved  condition  and 
the  better  reports  of  the  big  world  to 
which  we  belong?  Of  course  our  sat 
isfaction  is  checked  and  shadowed, 
often  very  darkly  shadowed,  by  the 
remembrance  of  those  who  are  left 
behind  in  the  march  of  civilization — 
the  retarded  races,  the  benighted  classes, 
the  poor  relations,  of  the  world.  But 


IS   THE   WORLD   GROWING    BETTER? 

our  sympathy  with  them  is  much  more 
likely  to  be  helpful  if  it  is  hopeful,  than 
if  it  is  despairing.  I  do  not  think  it 
necessary  to.  cultivate  melancholy  or 
misanthropy  as  a  preparation  for  benefi 
cence. 

A  generous  man  ought  to  find  some 
thing  cheerful  and  encouraging  to  his 
own  labours,  in  the  knowledge  that  the 
world  is  growing  "better  off." 

But  is  it  growing  better?  That's  an 
other  question,  and  a  far  more  im 
portant  one.  What  is  happening  to  the 
world  itself,  the  owner  of  all  this  gear, 
the  prosperous  old  adventurer  whose 
wealth,  according  to  Mr.  Gladstone,  in 
creased  twice  as  much  during  the  first 
seventy  years  of  the  nineteenth  century 
as  it  had  done  during  the  eighteen  hun 
dred  years  preceding?  Is  this  marvel 
lous  increase  of  goods  beneficial  to  the 
character  of  the  race?  Or  is  it  injuri- 


IS  THE   WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

ous  ?  Or  has  it,  perhaps,  no  deep  or  def 
inite  influence  one  way  or  the  other? 

f  You  know  how  hard  it  is  to  come  to 
a  clear  and  just  conclusion  on  such 
points  as  these,  even  in  the  case  of 
an  individual  man.  Peter  Silvergilt's 
wealth  has  grown  from  nothing  to 
three  hundred  million  dollars  during 
the  last  fifty  years;  but  are  you  sure 
that  Peter's  personality  is  better,  finer, 
nobler,  more  admirable  than  it  was 
when  he  was  a  telegraph-boy  earning 
ten  dollars  a  week?  William  Wiseman 
has  a  world-wide  fame  as  a  scholar;  it 
is  commonly  reported  that  he  has  for 
gotten  more  than  most  men  ever  knew; 
but  can  you  trust  William  more  implic 
itly  to  be  fair  and  true  and  generous 
than  when  he  was  an  obscure  student 
just  beginning  to  work  for  a  degree  in 
.philosophy? 

/     When  we  try  to  apply  such  questions, 

[4J    ' 


IS   THE   WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

not  to  a  single  person,  but  to  the  world 
at  large,  positive  and  mathematical  an 
swers  are  impossible.  The  field  of  in 
quiry  is  too  vast.  The  facts  of  racial 
character  are  too  secret  and  subtle. 

But  a  provisional  estimate  of  the  gen 
eral  condition  of  the  world  from  the 
point  of  view  of  goodness,  comparing 
the  present  with  the  past — a  probable 
guess  at  the  direction  in  which  the  race 
is  moving  morally — this  is  something 
that  we  may  fairly  make.  Indeed,  if 
you  think  and  care  much  about  your 
brother  men  you  can  hardly  help  mak 
ing  it,  and  upon  the  colour  of  this  guess 
the  tone  of  your  philosophy  depends. 
If  the  colour  is  dark,  you  belong  among 
the  pessimists,  who  cannot  be  very 
happy,  though  they  may  sometimes  be 
rather  useful.  If  the  colour  is  bright, 
you  are  what  men  call  an  optimist, 
though  I  think  George  Eliot's  word, 


IS  THE   WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

"meliorist,"  would  be  a  more  fitting 
name. 

For  what  is  it,  after  all,  that  we  can 
venture  to  claim  for  this  old  world  of 
ours,  at  most?  Certainly  not  that  it  is 
altogether  good,  nor  even  that  it  is  as 
good  as  it  might  be  and  therefore  ought 
to  be.  Police-stations  and  prisons  and 
wars  are  confessions  that  some  things 
are  wrong  and  need  correction.  The 
largest  claim  that  a  cheerful  man  who  is 
also  a  thoughtful  man — a  child  of  hope 
with  his  eyes  open — dares  to  make  for 
the  world  is  that  it  is  better  than  it  used 
to  be,  and  that  it  has  a  fair  prospect 
of  further  improvement.  This  is  meli 
orism,  the  philosophy  of  actual  and  pos 
sible  betterment;  not  a  high-stepping, 
trumpet-blowing,  self -flattering  creed, 
immediately  available  for  advertising 
purposes ;  but  a  modest  and  sober  faith, 
useful  for  consolation  in  those  hours  of 
[6] 


IS   THE    WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

despondency  and  personal  disappoint 
ment  when  the  grasshopper  and  the 
critic  both  become  a  burden,  and  for 
encouragement  to  more  earnest  effort 
in  those  hours  of  cheer  when  a  high-tide 
of  the  spirit  fills  us  with  good-will  to 
our  fellow-men. 

I  asked  John  Friendly  the  other  day: 
"Do  you  think  the  world  is  growing 
better?" 

"Certainly,"  said  he,  with  a  smile  like 
sunrise  on  his  honest  face,  "I  haven't 
the  slightest  doubt  of  it." 

"But  what  makes  you  so  sure  of  it." 

"Why,  it  must  be  so!  Look  at  all  the 
work  that  is  being  done  to-day  to  edu 
cate  people  and  help  them  into  better 
ways  of  living.  All  this  effort  must 
count  for  something.  The  wagon  must 
move  with  so  many  horses  pulling  at  it. 
The  world  can't  help  growing  better!" 

Then  he  left  me,  to  go  down  to  a  meet- 
[7] 


IS   THE    WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

ing  of  his  "Citizens'  Committee  for  the 
Application  of  the  Social  Boycott  to 
Political  Offenders"  (which  frequently 
adjourns  without  a  quorum).  Immedi 
ately  afterward  I  passed  the  door  of  the 
"Michael  T.  Moriarty  Republi-cratic 
Club" — wide  open  and  crowded.  On 
my  way  up  the  avenue  I  saw  a  liquor- 
saloon  on  every  block — and  all  busy. 
The  news-stands  were  full  of  placards 
announcing  articles  in  the  magazines — 
"Graft  in  Chicago,"  "The  Criminal 
Calendar  of  Millionaires,"  "St.  Louis, 
the  Bribers'  Paradise,"  "The  Plunder 
of  Philadelphia."  Head-lines  in  the 
yellow  journals  told  of  "Immense 
Slaughter  in  Manchuria,"  "Russia 
Ripe  for  Revolution."  "The  Black 
Hand  Terror  in  the  Bronx,"  "Gilded 
Gambling-Dens  of  the  Four  Hun 
dred,"  "Diamonds  and  Divorce." 
John  Friendly's  cheerful  a  priori  con- 

[8] 


IS   THE    WORLD   GROWING    BETTER? 

fidence  in  the  betterment  of  the  world 
seemed  to  need  reinforcement.  Some  of 
the  horses  are  pulling  his  way,  no  doubt, 
but  a  good -many  appear  to  be  pulling 
the  other  way.  Under  such  conditions 
the  wagon  might  stick  fast,  or  go  back 
ward.  Possibly  it  might  be  pulled  to 
pieces.  Who  can  measure,  in  the  ab 
stract,  the  comparative  strength  of  the 
good  and  the  evil  forces?  Who  can  tell 
beforehand  which  way  the  tug-of-war 
must  go? 

The  only  sound  and  satisfactory 
method  is  to  bring  out 'the  foot-rule 
of  fact  and  apply  it  to  the  tracks  of  the 
wagon.  Has  it  moved?  How  fast,  how 
far,  which  way? 

"Growing  better"  is  a  phrase  about 
which  a  company  of  college  professors 
would  probably  have  a  long  preliminary 
dispute;  but  plain  people  understand  it 
well  enough  for  practical  purposes. 
[9] 


IS   THE   WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

There  are  three  factors  in  it.  When  we 
say  that  a  man  grows  better,  we  mean 
that,  in  the  main,  he  is  becoming  more 
just,  and  careful  to  do  the  right  thing; 
more  kind,  and  ready  to  do  the  helpful 
thing;  more  self -controlled,  and  willing 
to  sacrifice  his  personal  will  to  the  gen 
eral  welfare.  Is  the  world  growing  bet 
ter  in  this  sense?  Is  there  more  justice, 
more  kindness,  more  self-restraint, 
among  the  inhabitants  of  earth  than  in 
the  days  of  old? 

Of  course,  when  we  consider  a  ques 
tion  like  this,  before  even  a  modest 
guess  at  the  answer  is  possible,  we  must 
be  willing  to  take  a  long  view  and  a 
wide  view.  The  world,  like  the  in 
dividual  man,  has  its  moods  and  its 
vagaries,  its  cold  fits  and  its  hot  fits,  its 
backslidings  and  its  repentances,  its  re 
actions  and  its  revivals.  An  advance 
made  in  one  century  may  be  partly  lost 

[10] 


IS   THE   WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

in  the  next,  and  regained  with  interest 
in  a  later  century.  One  nation  may  be 
degenerating,  under  local  infections  of 
evil,  while  others  are  improving.  There 
may  be  years,  or  regions,  of  short  har 
vest  in  the  field  of  morals,  just  as  there 
are  in  the  cotton-field  or  the  corn-field. 
The  same  general  conditions  that  work 
well  for  the  development  of  most  men, 
may  prove  unfavourable  to  certain 
races.  Civilization  seems  to  oppress  and 
demoralize  some  tribes  to  the  point  of 
extinction.  Liberty  is  a  tonic  too  strong 
for  certain  temperaments ;  it  intoxicates 
them.  But  what  we  have  to  look  at  is 
not  the  local  exception,  nor  the  tem 
porary  reaction:  it  is  the  broad  field  as 
far  as  we  can  see  it,  the  general  move 
ment  as  far  as  we  can  trace  it.  And 
as  I  try  to  look  at  the  question  in  this 
way,  clearly  and  steadily,  it  seems  to  me 
that  the  world  is  really  growing  better: 
MM 


IS   THE   WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

not  in  every  eddy,  but  in  the  main  cur 
rent  of  its  life;  not  in  a  straight  line, 
but  with  a  winding  course ;  not  in  every 
respect,  but  in  at  least  two  of  the  three 
main  points  of  goodness;  not  swiftly, 
but  slowly,  surely,  really  growing  better. 

Take  the  matter  of  justice.  The  world's 
sense  of  equity,  its  desire  to  act  fairly 
and  render  to  every  man  his  due,  is  ex 
pressed  most  directly  in  its  laws.  Who 
can  fail  to  see  a  process  of  improve 
ment  in  the  spirit  and  temper  of  legis 
lation,  a  conscientious  effort  to  make 
the  law  more  efficient  in  the  protection 
of  human  rights  and  more  just  in  the 
punishment  of  offences? 

In  Shakespeare's  time,  for  example,  a 
woman's  existence,  in  the  eye  of  the  law, 
was  merged  in  that  of  her  husband.  A 
man  could  say  of  his  wife:  "She  is  my 
goods,  my  chattels ;  she  is  my  house,  my 
household  stuff,  my  field,  my  barn,  my 

[12] 


IS   THE   WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

«• 

horse,  my  ox,  my  anything."  The  very 
presents  which  he  gave  her  were  still 
his  property.  He  could  beat  her.  He 
could  deprive  her  of  the  guardianship 
of  her  children.  It  was  not  until  the 
end  of  the  seventeenth  century  that 
the  law  secured  her  right  to  the  separ 
ate  use  of  her  property,  and  not  until 
the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century 
that  the  legislation  of  Great  Britain 
and  America  began  to  recognize  and 
protect  her  as  a  person,  entitled  to  work 
and  receive  wages,  to  dispose  of  her 
own  earnings,  to  have  an  equal  share 
with  her  husband  in  the  guardianship 
of  their  children.  Surely  it  is  an  im 
mense  gain  in  justice  that  woman 
should  be  treated  as  a  human  being. 

This  gain  is  most  evident,  of  course, 
in  those  nations  which  are  leading  the 
march  of  civilization.  But  I  think  we 
can  see  traces  of  it  elsewhere.  The  aboli- 

[13] 


IS   THE   WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

tion  of  child-marriage  and  the  practical 
extinction  of  the  suttee  in  India,  the  de 
cline  of  the  cruelly  significant  fashion 
of  "foot-binding"  in  China,  the  begin 
ning  of  the  education  of  girls  in  Egypt, 
are  hints  that  even  the  heathen  world 
is  learning  to  believe  that  woman  may 
have  a  claim  to  justice. 

In  the  same  way  we  must  interpret  the 
laws  for  the  protection  of  the  young 
against  cruelty,  oppression,  and  in 
justice.  Beginning  with  the  Factory 
Act  of  1833  and  the  Mines  and  Col 
lieries  Act  of  1842  in  England,  there 
has  been  a  steadily  increasing  effort  to 
diminish  and  prevent  the  degradation 
of  the  race  by  the  enslavement  of  child 
hood  to  labor.  Even  the  parent's  right 
of  control,  says  the  modern  world,  must 
be  held  in  harmony  with  the  child's 
right  to  life  and  growth,  mental,  moral, 
and  physical.  The  law  itself  must  rec- 

[14] 


IS   THE   WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

ognize  the  injustice  of  dealing  with 
young  delinquents  as  if  they  were  old 
and  hardened  criminals.  No  more  herd 
ing  of  children  ten  and  twelve  years 
old  in  the  common  jail!  Juvenile  courts 
and  probation  officers,  asylums  and  re 
formatories:  an  intelligent  and  sys 
tematic  effort  to  reclaim  the  young  life 
before  it  has  fallen  into  hopeless  bond 
age  to  crime:  this  is  the  spirit  of 
civilized  legislation  to-day.  In  1903  no 
less  than  ten  of  the  American  States 
enacted  special  statutes  with  this  end  in 
view. 

The  great  change  for  the  better  in 
modern  criminal  law  is  another  proof 
that  the  world  is  growing  more  just. 
Brutal  and  degrading  methods  of  exe 
cution,  such  as  crucifixion,  burying 
alive,  impaling,  disembowelling,  break 
ing  on  the  wheel:  the  judicial  torture 
of  prisoners  and  unwilling  witnesses  by 

[15] 


IS   THE    WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

the  thumb-screw,  the  strappado,  and 
the  rack:  cruel  and  agonizing  penalties 
of  various  kinds  have  been  abolished, 
not  merely  by  way  of  concession  to  hu 
manity,  but  with  the  purpose  of  main 
taining  justice  in  purity  and  dignity. 
The  world  has  been  learning  to  dis 
criminate  more  carefully  between  the 
degrees  of  crime.  In  the  eighteenth 
century  men  were  condemned  to  death 
for  forgery;  for  stealing  from  a  shop 
to  the  value  of  five  shillings  or  from  a 
house  to  the  value  of  forty  shillings; 
for  malicious  injury  to  trees,  cattle,  or 
fish-ponds;  for  the  cutting  of  hop- 
bands  from  the  poles  in  a  plantation. 
Within  eighty  years  capital  punish 
ment  has  been  inflicted  in  England  for 
sheep-stealing  and  for  robbery  from  a 
house.  The  laws  of  Pennsylvania  at 
the  time  of  the  Revolution  enumerated 
twenty  crimes  punishable  with  death; 
[16] 


IS   THE    WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

in  Virginia  and  Kentucky  there  were 
twenty-seven.  Modern  legislation  rec 
ognizes  the  futility  as  well  as  the  funda 
mental  injustice  of  such  crass  and  in 
discriminate  retribution,  and  reserves 
the  final  penalty  for  the  supreme  crime 
against  the  life  of  the  individual  or  the 
State. 

At  the  same  time  there  has  been  a  two 
fold  rectification  of  the  scope  of  the 
criminal  law.  Some  of  the  offences  most 
severely  punished  in  old  times  have 
ceased  to  be  grounds  of  prosecution: 
for  example,  heresy,  witchcraft,  re 
ligious  nonconformity.  On  the  other 
hand,  misdeeds  which  formerly  were 
disregarded  have  been  made  punish 
able.  It  was  not  until  1833  that  the 
English  law  began  to  treat  drunken 
ness  as  a  crime,  rather  than  a  misfort 
une.  In  1857  a  fraud  on  the  part  of  a 
trustee,  and  in  1875  the  falsification  of 
[17] 


IS   THE   WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

accounts,  were  declared  to  be  criminal. 
The  laws  of  various  States  are  rec 
ognizing  and  defining  a  vast  number  of 
new  misdemeanors,  such  as  the  adul 
teration  of  foods,  gambling,  violation 
of  laws  in  restraint  of  the  liquor  traffic, 
selling  cigarettes  to  children,  tapping 
.electric  wires,  disfiguring  the  land 
scape  with  advertisements  or  printing 
them  on  the  American  flag,  making 
combinations  in  restraint  of  trade, 
sleeping  in  a  public  bakery,  spitting  on 
the  floor  of  a  street-car.  I  do  not  say 
that  all  of  these  offences  are  wisely  de 
fined  or  fairly  punished;  but  I  do  say 
that  the  process  of  modern  legislation 
in  regard  to  such  matters  indicates  a 
growing  desire  among  men  that  justice 
shall  prevail  in  the  community. 

A  large  part  of  what  appears  to  be  the 
increase  of  crime  in  recent  years  (ac 
cording  to  statistics) ,  is  due  to  this  new 

[18] 


IS   THE   WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

definition  of  misdemeanors.  There  are 
more  offenders  in  the  most  peaceful 
and  well-governed  States,  because  there 
are  more  offences  defined.  Another  part 
comes  from  the  greater  efficiency  in  the 
execution  of  laws  and  the  greater  com 
pleteness  in  the  tabulation  of  reports. 
The  remaining  part  comes  from  a  cause 
on  which  I  will  touch  later.  But  in  spite 
of  this  apparent  increase  of  crime,  no 
sensible  man  believes  that  the  actual 
amount  of  violence  and  disorder  among 
men  is  as  great  as  it  used  to  be.  Pike's 
"History  of  Crime  in  England"  esti 
mates  that  in  the  fourteenth  century 
murders  were  at  least  sixteen  times  as 
frequent  as  in  our  own  day. 

I  pass  by  such  notorious  and  splendid 
triumphs  of  the  world's  moral  sense  as 
the  abolition  of  the  slave-trade,  and  the 
establishment  of  international  law,  to 
mention  two  humble,  concrete  illustra- 
[19] 


IS   THE   WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

tions  of  what  I  mean  by  the  advance 
of  justice.  The  purchase  by  the  Ameri 
can  Government  of  the  lands  of  the 
Spanish  friars  in  the  Philippines  was  a 
just  way  of  accomplishing  what  would 
have  been  done  a  century  ago  by  con 
fiscation.  The  passage  by  the  Congress 
of  the  United  States  of  an  act  grant 
ing  copyright  to  foreigners  was  a  rec 
ognition,  resisted  by  selfishness  and 
ignorance  for  fifty  years,  of  the  fund 
amental  principles  of  righteousness  and 
fair  dealing. 

I  know  there  are  many  items,  and 
some  of  them  most  grievous,  to  be  set 
down  on  the  other  side.  There  are  still 
wars  of  conquest;  corruptions  and  de 
lays  in  legislation;  oppressions  and  in 
equalities  in  government;  robberies  and 
cruelties  which  go  unpunished.  But 
these  are  not  new  things:  they  are  as 
old  as  sin;  evils  not  yet  shaken  off.  I 

[20] 


IS   THE   WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

do  not  dream  that  the  world  is  already 
quite  just.  But  by  the  light  that  comes 
from  the  wiser,  fairer  laws  of  many 
lands,  I  guess  that  the  world  is  grow 
ing  more  just. 

In  regard  to  the  increase  of  kindness 
in  the  human  race,  the  evidence  is  even 
more  clear  and  strong.  There  are  more 
people  in  the  world  who  love  mercy, 
and  they  are  having  better  success 
in  making  their  spirit  prevail.  More 
is  being  done  to-day  to  prevent  and 
mitigate  human  suffering,  to  shelter 
and  protect  the  weak  and  helpless,  to 
minister  wisely  to  the  sick  and  wounded 
in  body  and  in  mind,  than  ever  before  in 
the  history  of  mankind.  Part  of  the  evi 
dence  of  this  lies  in  some  of  the  facts 
already  noted  in  connection  with  the 
humanizing  of  the  law,  and  in  the  ex 
traordinary  story  of  the  work  begun 
by  John  Howard,  a  hundred  and  thirty 

[21] 


IS  THE   WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

years  ago,  which  has  cleansed  away  so 
much  of  the  shame  of  a  cruel,  filthy,  and 
irrational  prison-system.  But  there  is 
evidence,  also,  of  a  more  direct  and 
positive  sort,  going  beyond  the  removal 
of  ancient  evils  and  manifesting  a  spirit 
of  creative  kindness  eager  to  find  new 
ways  of  helping  others. 

Since  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  says  the  best  authority  on 
statistics,  charity  has  grown  twice  as 
fast  as  wealth  in  England,  three  times 
as  fast  in  France.  In  the  United  States 
the  amount  of  the  larger  gifts  ($5,000 
or"  more)  rose  from  $29,000,000,  in 
1893,  to  $107,000,000,  in  1901.  The 
public  and  private  charities  of  New 
York  alone  (excluding  the  money 
spent  on  buildings)  are  estimated  at 
$50,000,000  a  year. 

With  all  this  increase  of  money  comes 
an  equal  increase  of  care  and  thought 

[22] 


IS   THE   WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

in  regard  to  the  best  way  of  using  it 
for  the  real  benefit  of  mankind.  Reck 
less  almsgiving  is  recognized  as  an  ami 
able  but  idiotic  form  of  self-indulgence. 
The  penny  dropped  into  the  beggar's 
hat  gives  place  to  an  inquiry  into  the 
beggar's  condition.  This  costs  more,  but 
it  is  worth  more.  Waste  in  money 
given  is  no  more  virtuous  than  waste 
in  money  earned.  Schools  of  philan 
thropy  are  established  to  study  and 
teach  the  economy  of  generosity.  Asy 
lums  are  investigated  and  supervised. 
Relief  funds  are  intrusted  to  responsi 
ble  committees,  who  keep  books  and  ren 
der  accounts.  Men  and  women  are  try 
ing  to  take  the  head  into  partnership 
with  the  heart  in  beneficence.  A  rich 
father  and  mother  lose  their  child  by 
scarlet  fever:  they  give  a  million  dol 
lars  to  endow  an  institution  for  the 
study  and  prevention  of  infectious  dis- 

F231 


IS   THE   WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

eases.  An  excursion  steamboat  is 
burned  in  New  York  harbor  and  a 
thousand  people,  most  of  them  poor, 
lose  their  lives:  within  two  weeks  $125,- 
000  is  given  for  relief;  it  is  not  thrown 
away  with  open  hands,  but  administered 
by  a  committee  with  as  much  care  as 
they  would  bestow  on  their  own  affairs ; 
every  dollar  is  accounted  for,  and  a 
balance  of  $17,000  is  left,  to  meet  fu 
ture  calls,  or  to  be  devoted  to  some 
kindred  purpose.  These  are  illustra 
tions  of  intelligent  mercy. 

Consider  the  advance  in  the  general 
spirit  of  kindness  which  is  indicated  by 
such  a  fact  as  the  founding  and  success 
ful  operation  of  the  system  of  Work 
ing  Men's  Insurance  in  Germany.  A 
certain  sum  of  money  is  set  aside  for 
each  workman  every  week  (the  em 
ployer  and  the  employee  each  contribut 
ing  half),  and  the  Government  adds  a 

[24] 


IS   THE   WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

supplement  of  $12  on  each  pension. 
Ten  million  workmen  are  thus  insured 
against  sickness;  seventeen  million 
against  accident;  ten  million  against 
disability  from  old  age.  Six  hundred 
and  seventy  thousand  persons  receive 
the  benefit  of  this  fund  in  yearly  pen 
sions.  Incidentally  there  has  been  an 
immense  benefit  in  the  increase  of  pre 
cautions  to  prevent  accidents  and  to  re 
duce  dangerous  occupations.  The  em 
ployer  who  is  not  yet  willing  to  protect 
his  workmen,  for  kindness'  sake,  will  do 
it  to  escape  heavier  taxes.  And  the  com 
munity  which  silently  compels  him  to  do 
this,  the  community  which  says  to  the 
labouring  man,  "If  you  will  perform 
your  duty,  you  shall  not  starve  when 
you  are  sick  and  old,"  is  certainly  grow 
ing  more  kind  as  well  as  more  just. 

Look  at  the  broad  field  of  what  we 
may  call  international  mercy.   It  has 

[25] 


IS   THE  WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

been  estimated  that  since  the  days  when 
the  failure  of  the  harvest  drove  Abra 
ham  from  Palestine  down  to  Egypt  to 
seek  food  for  his  starving  people,  there 
have  been  three  hundred  and  fifty  great 
famines  in  various  parts  of  the  world. 
How  many  of  the  hungry  nations  re 
ceived  help  from  the  outside  world  be 
fore  the  nineteenth  century  began?  But 
now,  within  a  week  after  the  distress  is 
known,  money,  food,  and  help  of  all 
kinds  begin  to  flow  in  from  all  quarters 
of  the  globe.  The  famine  in  India  in 
1900-1901  called  forth  contributions 
from  Great  Britain,  Germany,  France, 
America,  to  the  amount  of  $72,000,000. 
The  greater  part  came  from  England, 
of  course,  but  the  whole  world  stood 
ready  to  aid  her. 

After  the   great   fire   of  London  in 

1666,    and   the   Lisbon   earthquake   in 

1755,  there  was  some  outside  assistance 

[26] 


IS   THE    WORLD   GROWING    BETTER? 

given,  it  is  true.  But  in  the  main,  the 
stricken  cities  had  to  suffer  alone  and 
help  themselves.  When  the  little  city  of 
Galveston,  Texas,  was  swept  by  flood 
in  1900,  within  three  weeks  $750,000 
was  poured  in  for  its  relief,  and  the 
whole  fund  amounted  to  nearly  a  mil 
lion  and  a  half. 

Turn  again  to  look  at  the  effort  which 
the  world  is  making  to  get  rid  of  the 
hell  of  war,  or,  if  that  be  not  possible, 
at  least  to  mitigate  its  horrors  and  tor 
ments.  The  High  Tribunal  of  Arbitra 
tion  at  The  Hague  is  a  milestone  on 
the  world's  path  of  progress  toward  the 
peaceful  method  of  solving  interna 
tional  disputes.  Each  year  sees  some 
new  advance  in  that  direction.  Since 
1903  Great  Britain  and  France,  Hol 
land  and  Denmark,  France  and  Spain, 
Great  Britain  and  Italy,  France  and 
Holland,  Great  Britain  and  Spain, 
[27] 


IS   THE   WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

Italy  and  France,  have  made  treaties 
by  which  they  pledge  themselves  to 
refer  all  differences  of  certain  kinds 
which  may  arise  between  them  to  this 
tribunal  for  settlement.  During  the 
same  time  at  least  seven  international 
questions  have  been  referred  to  special 
arbitrators. 

True,  war  has  not  yet  been  eliminated 
from  the  programme  of  the  race.  Great 
armaments  are  maintained  at  incredi 
ble  expense,  and  nations  insist,  as  Rus- 
kin  said,  that  it  is  good  policy  to  pur 
chase  terror  of  one  another  at  the  cost 
of  hundreds  of  millions  every  year. 
Some  of  the  honest  friends  of  peace  are 
not  yet  reasonable  enough  to  see  the  fol 
ly  of  this  arrangement.  A  peace  which 
depends  upon  fear  is  nothing  but  a  sup 
pressed  war.  Every  now  and  then  the 
restraining  fear  gives  way,  in  one  place 
or  another,  and  thousands  of  men  are 

[28] 


IS   THE   WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

dressed  in  uniform  and  marshalled  with 
music  to  blow  one  another's  brains  out. 

But,  in  spite  of  all  this,  the  growth  of 
the  spirit  of  mercy  in  the  world  makes 
itself  known  in  the  application  of  more 
humane  rules  to  the  inhumanity  of  war. 
Private  wars,  prevalent  in  the  Middle 
Ages,  and  piracy,  tolerated  until  the 
nineteenth  century,  have  been  abolished. 
The  slaughter,  torture,  and  enslave 
ment  of  prisoners  of  war,  which  was 
formerly  practised  by  even  Christian 
nations,  gave  place  in  the  middle  of  the 
seventeenth  century  to  the  custom  of 
releasing  all  prisoners  at  the  close  of 
the  war  without  ransom.  Even  Ma 
hometan  nations  agreed  by  treaty  that 
they  would  no  longer  subject  their  cap 
tives  to  bondage  or  torture.  Persia  and 
Turkey,  in  1828,  pledged  themselves  to 
the  exchange  of  prisoners. 

There  has  been  a  steady  advance  in 
[29] 


IS   THE    WORLD   GROWING    BKTTKR? 

the  strictness  and  efficiency  of  the  rules 
protecting  the  life  and  property  of  non- 
combatants,  an  immense  decrease  in  the 
atrocities  inflicted  by  conquering  armies 
upon  the  peaceful  inhabitants  of  van 
quished  countries.  Let  any  man  read 
the  story  of  the  siege  and  sack  of  a  town 
in  Holland  by  the  Spanish  soldiers  as 
it  is  given  in  Motley's  "Dutch  Re 
public,"  and  compare  it  with  the  story 
of  the  capture  of  Paris  in  1870,  or  even 
the  taking  of  Pekin  in  1900,  and  he  will 
understand  that  war  itself  has  felt  the 
restraining  touch  of  mercy.  Let  him  re 
flect  upon  the  significance  of  the  work 
of  the  Red  Cross  Society,  with  its 
pledge  of  kindly  succor  to  all  who  are 
wounded  in  battle,  "treating  friend  and 
foe  alike" ;  let  him  consider  the  remark 
able  fact  that  this  society  in  Japan  has 
a  service  as  perfectly  organized  as  any 
in  the  world,  with  a  million  members, 

F301 


IS   THE   WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

and  an  annual  income  of  more  than 
$1,500,000,  and  he  cannot  but  acknowl 
edge  that  the  spirit  of  pity  and  compas 
sion  has  gained  ground  since  the  days 
of  Charlemagne  and  Barbarossa  arid 
Napoleon — yes,  even  since  the  days  of 
Libby  Prison  and  Elmira.  And  if  none 
of  these  things  are  enough  to  comfort 
or  encourage  him,  let  him  take  in  the 
meaning  of  the  simple  fact  that  not  one 
of  the  great  nations  of  the  world  to-day 
would  dare  to  proclaim  a  war  in  the 
name  of  Religion.  By  this  blessed 
change  alone,  I  should  make  bold  to 
guess  that  the  world  is  surely  growing 
better. 

But  how  is  it  with  the  third  factor 
of  real  betterment:  self-restraint,  the 
willingness  to  sacrifice  one's  own  pas 
sion  and  pleasure  for  the  good  of 
others?  Here,  I  confess,  my  guessing  is 
confused  and  troubled.  There  was  a 

[31] 


IS   THE   WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

vast  improvement  from  the  fourteenth 
to  the  nineteenth  century,  no  doubt. 
But  whether  the  twentieth  century  is 
carrying  on  the  advance  seems  uncer 
tain. 

It  may  be  that  on  this  point  we  have 
entered  into  a  period  of  reaction.  The 
theory  of  individual  liberty  threatens  to 
assert  itself  in  dangerous  forms.  Lit 
erature  and  art  are  throwing  their  en-> 
chantments  about  the  old  lie  that  life's 
highest  value  is  found  in  moments  of 
intense  self -gratification.  Speed  is  glo 
rified,  regardless  of  direction.  Strength 
is  worshipped  at  the  expense  of  reason. 
Success  is  deified  as  the  power  to  do 
what  one  likes.  Gilding  covers  a  multi 
tude  of  sins. 

On  the  one  hand,  we  have  a  so-called 
"upper  class,"  which  says:  "The  world 
was  made  to  amuse  me;  nothing  else 
matters."  On  the  other  hand,  we  have 

[32] 


IS   THE    WORLD   GROWING    BETTER? 

an  apparent  increase  of  the  criminal 
class,  which  lives  at  war  with  the  social 
order.  Corporations  and  labour  unions 
engage  in  a  'struggle  so  fierce  that  the 
rights  and  interests  of  the  community 
are  forgotten  by  both  parties.  In  our 
own  country  lynching,  which  is  organ 
ized  murder  for  unproved  offences, 
grows  more  common;  divorces  increase 
to  60,000  in  one  year;  and  there  is  an 
epidemic  of  shocking  accidents  and  dis 
asters,  greater  than  any  hitherto  record 
ed,  and  due  apparently  to  the  spirit  of 
unrestraint  and  recklessness  which  is 
sweeping  furiously  in  its  motor-car 
along  the  highways  of  modern  life. 

Is  this  selfish  and  headlong  spirit 
growing?  Will  it  continue  to  accelerate 
the  pace  at  which  men  live,  and  diminish 
the  control  by  which  they  are  guided? 
Will  it  weaken  more  and  more  the  bonds 
of  reverence,  and  mutual  consideration, 

[33] 


IS   THE   WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

and  household  fidelity,  and  civic  virtue, 
until  the  states  which  have  been  civilized 
by  the  sanctions  of  love  and  the  convic 
tions  of  duty  are  whirled  backward,  by 
the  passion  of  self-indulgence,  into  the 
barbarism  of  luxurious  pleasure  or  the 
anarchy  of  social  strife? 

These  are  the  questions  that  rise  to 
trouble  us  in  our  moments  of  despond 
ency  and  foreboding.  But  I  think  that 
it  is  neither  wise  nor  brave  to  give 
them  an  answer  of  despair.  Two  are 
stronger  than  one.  The  growth  of  jus 
tice  and  of  kindness,  I  guess,  will  in  the 
long  run  prevail  over  the  decline  of  self- 
restraint,  and  the  selfish,  reckless  spirit 
will  be  overcome. 

At  all  events,  when  Christmas  comes 
I  shall  sit  down  with  John  Friendly  to 
enjoy  its  cheer,  rather  than  with  any 
sour  pessimist.  For  one  thing  is  sure. 
The  hope  of  humanity  lies  in  the  widen- 

[34] 


IS   THE   WORLD   GROWING   BETTER? 

ing,  deepening  influence  of  that  blessed 
Life  which  was  born  nineteen  hundred 
years  ago  in  Bethlehem.  The  Lesson 
which  that  Life  teaches  us  is  that  the 
only  way  to  make  the  world  better  is 
for  each  man  to  do  his  best. 


[35] 


II 

RULING    CLASSES    IN   A 
DEMOCRACY 

A  DEMOCRACY  differs  from  a  mon 
archy,  an  empire,  an  aristocracy,  not 
in  the  absence  of  ruling  classes,  but  in 
the  method  by  which  they  are  selected. 

Government  without  rulers  is  as  im 
possible  as  steering  without  rudders. 
Man  is  by  nature  a  civil  creature.  His 
natural  rights,  however  you  may  define 
them,  coexist  with  a  natural  instinct  of 
organization.  Organization  implies  or 
der.  Order  implies  control.  Control  im 
plies  authority.  Authority  implies  a  rul 
ing  class. 

Rudiments  of  this  civil  instinct  may 
be  seen  in  some  of  the  lower  animals. 

[36] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

Bees  and  ants  reflect,  in  a  dim  and 
partial  way,  the  image  of  an  organ 
ized  state.  Herds  of  elephants  and 
horses,  colonies  of  birds  and  beavers, 
are  obedient  to  leadership  and  direction. 
In  almost  every  case  we  can  measure 
a  creature's  place  in  the  scale  of  intel 
ligence  by  the  force  and  efficiency  of  the 
civil  instinct.  Man  is  no  exception,  but 
the  great  example.  The  first  social  prob 
lem  is  the  problem  of  rule:  who  shall 
exercise  it,  how  far  shall  it  go,  and  by 
what  means  shall  it  be  enforced?  The 
highest  social  triumph  is  the  establish 
ment  of  authority  in  the  hands  of  those 
who  are  best  fitted  to  exercise  it. 

But  while  man  has  an  instinct  which 
recognizes  and  seeks  this  end,  he  has 
also  an  impulse  which  rebels  against  the 
means  necessary  to  secure  it.  The  free 
dom  of  the  will  carries  with  it  the  crav 
ing  for  unrestrained  liberty  of  action. 

[37] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

I^ut  liberty  absolutely  unrestrained  is 
inconsistent  with  the  existence  of  any 
kind  of  rule. 

Suppose  that  you  and  I  are  farmers, 
whose  fields  march  together.  If  you 
are  free  to  do  just  what  you  please, 
and  I  am  free  to  do  precisely  what 
I  like,  it  is  not  probable  that  peace 
will  prevail  along  our  line-fences;  at 
least  not  until  we  are  both  perfectly 
sanctified  and  the  millennium  arrives, 
which  is  evidently  some  distance  away. 
Meantime  it  is  quite  necessary  for  both 
of  us  that  there  should  be  some  one 
authorized  and  competent  to  say  what 
shall  be  done  about  those  line-fences; 
and  how  the  roads  which  we  use  in 
common  shall  be  kept  up;  and  how 
the  agreements  which  we  make  to  ex 
change  our  labour,  or  the  products  of 
our  labour,  shall  be  enforced;  and  what 
means  shall  be  used  to  guard  us  both 

[38] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

against  common  dangers  and  disasters ; 
and  how  the  cost  of  these  things  shall 
be  divided. 

This  is  rule.  The  men  who  have  "the 
say"  about  these  subjects  belong  to 
the  ruling  classes.  Against  them,  and 
against  the  things  that  they  say,  the 
impulse  of  unregulated  freedom  al 
ways  reluctates. 

Few  men  doubt  their  ability  to  make 
laws.  Most  men,  at  some  time  or  other, 
dislike  the  necessity  of  obeying  them. 
Personal  restraints  are  not  often  per 
sonal  pleasures.  The  visit  of  the  tax- 
collector  seldom  gives  unmixed  joy.  It 
is  easier  to  do  what  you  please  than  to 
do  what  you  ought.  Individual  rights 
seem  more  concrete  and  familiar  than 
reciprocal  duties.  Under  every  form  of 
government  known  to  man  there  has 
been,  there  still  is,  and  there  probably 
will  be,  an  element  of  discontent  and 

[39] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

restlessness  arising  from  the  natural  hu 
man  impulse — natural  at  least  to  man 
in  his  present  condition — to  resist  rule. 

The  problem  of  civilization  is  how  to 
subdue  this  impulse  by  correlating  in 
dividual  rights  with  social  duties,  and 
how  to  develop,  enlighten,  and  guide  the 
civil  instinct  which  seeks  order  through 
rule. 

Now,  it  is  evident  that  the  method  of 
selecting  the  ruling  classes  must  have  a 
considerable  influence  in  the  working 
out  of  this  problem.  It  is  true  that  at 
any  given  time  people  are  most  likely 
to  be  contented,  peaceful,  and  happy 
under  the  rulers  who  actually  give  them 
the  most  firm,  orderly,  and  equitable 
government,  no  matter  how  they  may 
have  been  selected.  There  is  a  certain 
amount  of  hard  common  sense  in  the 
remark  of  Alexander  Pope,  although  it 
was  made  in  verse : 

[40] 


RULING   CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

"  For  forms  of  government  let  fools  contest ; 
Whate'er  is  best  administered  is  best." 

But  the  wisdom  of  this  couplet  is 
confined  to  the  present  tense.  It  is 
good  only  for  the  moment  in  which 
it  is  uttered.  A  form  of  government 
may  be  well  administered  to-day,  badly 
to-morrow.  The  great  question  is,  how 
to  secure  a  continuity  of  good  admin 
istration.  How  shall  the  men  who  are 
best  qualified  to  control  and  direct  the 
common  interests  of  their  fellow-men 
be  discovered?  How  shall  they  be  sanc 
tioned  in  the  use  of  just  authority,  and 
restrained  from  the  exercise  of  unjust 
tyranny?  How  shall  it  be  made  most 
easy  to  correct  the  accident  of  power 
falling  into  unfit  hands?  How  shall  the 
great  force  of  public  opinion,  from 
which,  in  the  last  analysis,  all  govern 
ments  derive  their  energy  and  stability 

—how  shall  this  common  sense  of  jus- 
Mi  ] 


RULING   CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

tice  and  right  be  satisfied  in  the  selec 
tion  of  the  ruling  class? 

Different  methods  have  been  devised. 
They  may  be  classed  under  three  heads : 
autocratic,  automatic,  and  democratic. 

The  autocratic  method  practically 
amounts  to  allowing  the  chief  ruler  to 
select  himself  and  appoint  his  subordi 
nates.  This  is  the  oldest  method  and  the 
rudest — 

"the  simple  plan 

That  those  should  take  who  have  the  power, 
And  those  should  keep  who  can." 

It  is  based  upon  the  assumption  that 
might  coincides  with  right.  This  would 
be  convenient  if  it  were  true.  It  would 
be  a  great  saving  of  time  if  we  could 
just  let  the  strongest  man  rule,  and 
feel  sure  that  he  was  the  best.  But, 
unfortunately,  the  history  of  imperial 
sway  does  not  support  this  idea.  When 
an  autocrat  imposes  the  taxes,  there  is 

[42] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

often  "the  de'il  to  pay."  And  when  a 
tyrant  chooses  the  judges,  Justice  does 
not  need  to  have  her  eyes  bandaged, 
for  she  is  stone-blind  already. 

The  automatic  method  relies  upon  he 
redity  to  supply  the  ruling  classes.  Cer 
tain  families  are  endowed  with  titles 
and  powers,  and  the  head  of  a  particu 
lar  family  inherits  the  sovereignty.  All 
that  he  has  to  do  is  to  be  born  at  the 
right  time,  and  live  long  enough,  and 
the  sceptre  comes  to  him  as  a  matter  of 
course.  Meantime  natural  forces  are  at 
work  producing  hereditary  legislators 
to  support  and  share  his  power.  The 
scheme  has  an  aspect  of  antique  dignity 
and  piety.  It  appears  to  put  great  reli 
ance  upon  Providence,  and,  indeed,  it 
has  often  sanctioned  itself  in  old  times 
by  an  appeal  to  the  "Divine  Right  of 
Kings."  In  practice  it  has  two  very 
serious  drawbacks.  First,  the  wrong 

[43] 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

family  may  be  chosen  to  start  the  pro 
cession;  and,  second,  the  so-called  law 
of  heredity  often  produces  very  unex 
pected  and  curious  results. 

The  democratic  method  intrusts  the  se 
lection  of  the  ruling  classes  to  the  col 
lective  reason  and  justice  of  the  people. 
In  the  conduct  of  government  it  ap 
peals  to  the  governed  for  their  consent. 
"Consent  of  the  governed,"  in  this  con 
nection,  does  not  mean  their  permission, 
merely;  for  if  this  were  the  meaning, 
it  would  be  equally  true  of  a  constitu 
tional  monarchy,  and  even  of  a  benevo 
lent  and  popular  empire.  The  subjects 
of  Edward  VII.  and  of  William  II. 
"consent,"  in  this  sense,  to  their  govern 
ments,  with  practically  as  much  una 
nimity  as  the  citizens  of  the  United 
States  feel  at  any  given  time  in  con 
senting  to  the  authority  of  the  Presi 
dent  in  office.  The  "consent*'  of  democ- 

[44] 


RULING   CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

racy,  if  it  has  any  distinctive  meaning, 
must  signify  the  thinking  together,  the 
acting  together,  of  the  people  in  the 
choice  of  their  rulers,  and,  consequent 
ly,  in  the  direction  of  the  state.  Three 
things  are  essential  to  the  reality  of 
this  popular  participation. 

First,  there  must  be  an  untrammelled 
opportunity  for  the  people  to  express 
their  choice  by  suffrage.  It  is  by  no 
means  necessary  that  this  suffrage 
should  be  universal.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  it  never  has  been.  There  is  no  na 
tion  known  to  history  in  which  all  citi 
zens,  male  and  female,  old  and  young, 
native  and  foreign-born,  have  had  the 
suffrage.  It  is  not  a  common  right.  It 
is  a  civil  privilege  intended  to  protect 
common  rights.  It  has  always  been  re 
stricted  in  one  way  or  another.  The  only 
things  necessary  to  its  sufficiency  are 
that  it  should  be  truly  representative, 

[45] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

and  that  the  conditions  which  restrict  it 
should  be  equal  for  all,  except  in  the 
case  of  forfeiture  for  crime. 

The  second  essential  of  popular  par 
ticipation  in  government  is  that  the 
terms  of  office  of  those  who  are  chosen 
to  rule  should  be  so  limited  that  changes 
of  national  judgment,  arising  from 
experience,  from  education,  or  from 
changed  circumstances,  may  be  made 
effective  without  rebellion  or  revolu 
tion. 

The  third  essential  is  that  the  func 
tions  and  powers  of  the  ruling  classes 
thus  chosen  should  be  restricted  to  those 
which  are  actually  conferred  in  the 
choice.  For  this  reason  there  can  be  no 
real  and  permanent  democracy  without 
a  constitution.  True  democrats  are  jeal 
ous  and  zealous  for  the  sanctity  of  the 
constitution.  They  know  that  it  is  the 
sea-wall  between  them  and  autocracy. 

[46] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

Now,  where  these  three  essentials  ex 
ist, — a  representative  and  equal  suf 
frage,  periodical  opportunity  for  the 
people  to  change  their  rulers  peaceful 
ly,  and  a  careful  limitation  of  official 
powers  by  the  constitution, — there  is 
genuine  democracy. 

Foreign  critics  say  that  the  United 
States  is  not  a  truly  democratic  coun 
try,  because  the  people  are  not  all  on 
a  level,  all  alike.  But  when  did  democ 
racy  offer  to  guarantee  the  similarity 
of  people,  or  grade  mankind  down  to 
a  dead  flat?  When  all  the  trees  in  the 
forest  have  the  same  number  of  leaves, 
when  all  the  rivers  that  flow  into  the 
sea  contain  the  same  number  of  fish, 
when  all  the  fields  in  the  farm  bear  the 
same  crop,  then  will  all  men  be  alike  in 
their  power  and  skill,  and  consequently 
on  a  level  in  degree  and  station.  Democ 
racy  is  no  miracle-worker,  no  infidel 

[47] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

toward  natural  law.  Democracy  de 
clares  that  men,  unequal  in  their  endow 
ments,  shall  be  equal  in  their  rights  to 
develop  those  endowments. 

Classes  must  exist  in  every  social  order 
— ruling  classes,  teaching  classes,  agri 
cultural  classes,  manufacturing  classes, 
commercial  classes.  All  these  are  in  the 
labouring  class,  but  their  labour  is  di 
vided.  The  moment  you  begin  to  divide 
labour  you  begin  to  differentiate  men. 
The  moment  you  have  men  devel 
oped,  by  different  kinds  of  work,  on 
different  sides  of  their  nature,  you 
have  classes. 

What  democracy  says  is  that  there 
shall  be  no  locked  doors  between  these 
classes.  Every  stairway  shall  be  open. 
Every  opportunity  shall  be  free.  Every 
talent  shall  have  an  equal  chance  to  earn 
another  talent.  I  think  we  may  claim 
that  this  is  the  case  in  the  United  States, 

[48] 


RULING   CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

at  least  to  a  larger  extent  than  ever  be 
fore  in  the  history  of  the  world.  Not  all 
the  farmers'  boys  in  the  country  may 
become  Presidents  of  the  nation.  That 
would  be  physically  impossible.  But 
any  of  them  may  do  so,  and  several  of 
them  have  done  so.  Some  of  them,  like 
Henry  Clay  and  Daniel  Webster,  at 
tained  such  eminence  and  power  that 
the  Presidency  could  hardly  have  added 
to  their  fame. 

These  cases  are  not  accidents.  They  are 
logical  evidences  of  an  equality  among 
men  in  the  only  sense  in  which  equality 
is  possible — equality  of  opportunity. 
This  equality  is  no  nebulous  dream  of 
a  state  in  which  degree  is  abolished  and 
every  man  is  as  mediocre  as  everybody 
else.  It  is  a  real  escape  from  the  tyranny 
of  artificial  and  hereditary  distinctions ; 
a  real  approximation  of  position  and 
fitness,  honour  and  ability.  It  is  safe- 

[49] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

guarded,  and  its  effects  are  diffused  in 
some  measure  through  the  whole  f  abric 
of  social  life,  not  by  any  mere  legal 
enactment,  but  by  something  vastly 
stronger  and  more  efficient :  the  state  of 
mind  which  is  created  in  the  people  by 
committing  to  them  the  choice  of  their 
own  ruling  classes.  Herein  is  fulfilled 
the  divine  prophecy  of  democracy: 
"And  their  nobles  shall  be  of  them 
selves,  and  their  governors  shall  pro 
ceed  from  the  midst  of  them." 

In  regard  to  this  democratic  method  of 
electing  rulers  there  are  some  things 
which  I  should  like  to  say,  with  as  much 
emphasis  and  clearness  as  may  be  con 
sistent  with  brevity. 

It  is  the  highest  and  most  reasonable 
method.  In  the  case  of  ignorant,  unde 
veloped  peoples,  with  whom  the  impulse 
of  resistance  is  stronger  than  the  in 
stinct  of  order,  the  other  methods  may 

[501 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

be  necessary.  But  they  are  to  be  consid 
ered  as  educative,  corrective,  discipli 
nary.  All  peoples,  like  all  children, 
should  be  regarded  as  on  their  way  to 
self-rule.  When  they  are  able  to  main 
tain  it,  they  are  entitled  to  have  it.  All 
arguments  against  the  democratic  meth 
od,  based  on  the  weakness,  folly,  and  sel 
fishness  of  human  nature,  apply  with 
greater  force  to  the  autocratic  and  au 
tomatic  methods.  The  individual  follies 
of  a  multitude  of  men  often  neutralize 
one  another,  leaving  an  active  residuum 
of  plain  common  sense.  But  for  a  fool 
king  there  is  no  natural  antidote;  and 
sometimes  men  have  sadly  found  that 
the  only  way  to  set  his  head  straight  was 
to  remove  it. 

It  is  said  that  democracies  are  pecul 
iarly  subject  to  the  microbes  of  financial 
delusion  and  the  resultant  boom- fever 
and  panic-chill.  But  the  Mississippi 

[51] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

Scheme  and  the  South  Sea  Bubble 
flourished  under  monarchical  institu 
tions  ;  and  the  worst-depreciated  curren 
cies  in  the  world  have  been  stamped 
with  the  image  and  superscription  of 
kings. 

It  is  said  that  democracies  are  reck 
less,  extravagant,  spendthrift,  and  that 
official  dishonesty  and  corruption  thrive 
in  them.  But  it  would  be  difficult  to  par 
allel  the  extravagance  and  corruption 
of  the  government  of  France  under 
the  Bourbons,  in  the  history  of  any  re 
public.  The  Russian  railway  across  Si 
beria  has  been  built  through  a  quagmire 
of  public  peculation  as  vast  as  the  Em 
pire  itself.  And  when  the  records  of 
South  Africa  are  fully  written,  unless 
all  signs  fail,  it  will  be  found  that  the 
pickings  of  the  rulers  of  the  Boer  re 
publics,  compared  with  those  of  the  ser 
vants  of  the  new  British  Overlord  of 

[52] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

the  Transvaal,  were  on  the  scale  of  one 
horse  to  a  thousand  mules. 

It  is  said  that  democracies  sometimes 
choose  weak,  incompetent,  and  even  bad 
men  for  their  ruling  classes.  So  they  do. 
But  they  have  no  monopoly  in  this  re 
spect.  The  automatic  method  of  select 
ing  rulers  produced  Charles  II.  and 
James  II.  and  George  III.  It  would  be 
difficult  to  surpass  in  any  republic  the 
folly  which  selected  Lord  North  to 
guide  the  policy  of  Great  Britain  at 
a  time  when  Lord  Chatham,  Charles 
James  Fox,  and  Edmund  Burke  were 
on  the  stage.  Yet  this  was  done,  not  by 
an  ignorant  democracy,  but  by  an  auto 
matic  king.  Nor  does  the  autocratic 
plan  of  allowing  rulers  to  choose  them 
selves  work  any  more  infallibly.  France 
had  two  examples  of  it  in  the  last 
century.  Napoleon  I.  was  a  catastrophe. 
Napoleon  III.  was  a  crime. 

[53] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

All  that  may  be  said  of  the  propriety 
of  appealing  to  Providence  and  trust 
ing  God  for  the  ordaining  of  the  pow 
ers  that  be,  applies  to  the  democratic 
method  even  more  than  to  any  other. 
Why  should  we  suppose  that  Provi 
dence  has  anything  more  to  do  with  the 
ambition  of  a  strong  man  to  climb  a 
throne,  than  with  the  desire  of  a  great 
people  to  make  a  strong  man  their  lead 
er?  Why  should  we  imagine  that  God 
is  any  more  willing  to  direct  the  intri 
cacies  of  royal  marriages,  and  regulate 
the  matrimonial  alliances  of  titled  per 
sonages,  for  the  sake  of  producing 
proper  kings  and  lords,  than  to  guide 
the  thoughts  and  desires  of  a  great  peo 
ple  and  turn  their  hearts  to  the  choice 
of  good  presidents?  The  characteristic 
of  democracy,  says  James  Russell  Low 
ell,  is  its  habit  of  "asking  the  Powers 
that  Be,  at  the  most  inconvenient  mo- 

[54] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

ment,  whether  they  are  the  Powers  that 
Ought  to  Be."  And  what  is  this  ques 
tion  but  an  appeal  to  the  divine  judg 
ment  and  law? 

There  is  as  much  room  for  Providence 
to  act  in  the  growth  of  public  opinion  as 
in  the  rise  and  propagation  of  a  royal 
house.  What  royal  house  is  there  that 
goes  so  far  to  vindicate  the  ways  of  God 
to  man  as  the  succession  of  Presidents 
chosen  by  the  people  of  the  American 
Republic?  Some  of  the  choices  have  not 
been  brilliant,  a  few  have  been  unfort 
unate,  none  has  been  evil  or  corrupt. 
There  is  no  line  of  hereditary  kings,  no 
line  of  autocratic  emperors,  that  claims 
as  many  great  men,  or  half  as  many 
good  men,  in  an  equal  period  of  time,  as 
the  line  of  Presidents  of  the  United 
States. 

There  is  warrant,  then,  in  reason  and 
in  experience,  for  believing  in  the  divine 

[55] 


RULING   CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

right  of  democracy.  It  is  not  the  only 
righteous  and  lawful  method  of  select 
ing  rulers,  but  it  is  the  highest  and  most 
reasonable.  We  lift  our  patriotism 
above  the  shallow  and  flashy  enthusiasm 
for  institutions  merely  because  they  are 
ours.  We  confide  ourselves  to  the  hope 
ful  and  progressive  view  of  human  nat 
ure,  to  the  faith  that  God  is  able  to 
make  truth  and  right  reason  prevail  in 
the  arena  of  public  opinion.  We  bless 
the  memory  of  our  first  and  greatest 
hero  because  he  had  no  desire  for  a 
crown,  and  so,  by  his  personal  influ 
ence,  helped  to  make  the  choice  of  rul 
ing  classes  in  the  United  States  neither 
autocratic  nor  automatic,  but  demo 
cratic. 

But  this  method  of  providing  for  civil 
rule  has  its  dangers,  which  cannot  be  de 
nied,  and  which  ought  not  to  be  for 
gotten. 

[56] 


RULING   CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

Government  by  majority  is  not  an  in 
fallible  device  for  securing  the  best  wis 
dom  at  any  particular  moment.  It  is  a 
good  working  plan  for  conducting  the 
experiments  which  need  to  be  tried  in 
order  to  determine,  by  success  or  fail 
ure,  the  direction  in  which  the  best  wis 
dom  lies.  Our  local  failures  ought  to  be 
as  instructive  as  our  general  success.  In 
our  prosperity  we  should  imitate  the 
custom  of  the  Romans,  who  sobered  the 
joys  of  a  public  triumph  by  the  pres 
ence  of  a  monitor  to  warn  the  victor 
that  he  was  not  exempt  from  the  dan 
gers  and  frailties  of  mortality. 

Three  chief  perils  attend  the  demo 
cratic  method  of  selecting  the  ruling 
classes : 

The  red  peril  of  the  rise  of  the  dema 
gogue. 

The  yellow  peril  of  the  dominance  of 
wealth. 

[67] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

The  black  peril  of  the  rule  of  the 
Boss. 

There  is  a  singular  relationship  among 
these  perils.  They  are  interwoven  and 
concomitant.  Unlike  as  are  the  men  in 
whom  they  are  separately  embodied,  the 
man  through  whom  they  all  become 
possible  is  one  and  the  .same: — the  cele 
brated  "man  with  the  hoe." 

Hear  a  parable  of  the  machine,  the 
money-bag,  the  mouth,  and  the  hoe. 
The  man  with  the  machine  persuaded 
the  man  with  the  hoe  to  vote  precisely 
according  to  orders,  and  thus  made  him 
self  of  much  value  as  an  agent  of  bar 
ter  or  an  instrument  of  assessment.  The 
man  with  the  money-bag,  desiring  pro 
tection  or  power,  went  into  the  market 
place  and  found  there  the  man  with  the 
machine,  whereupon  these  two  discov 
ered  a  community  of  interest.  This 
worked  well  until  the  man  with  the 

[58] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

hoe  grew  suspicious  that  his  part  in  the 
transaction,  while  the  most  important, 
was  the  least  profitable.  Then  appeared 
the  man  with  the  mouth,  promising  to 
wind  up  the  concern,  distribute  the  as 
sets,  and  alter  the  laws  of  nature  so  far 
as  necessary  to  effect  a  universal  ex 
change  of  hoes  for  money-bags.  This 
programme  was  not  fully  carried  out. 
But  the  machine  was  put  temporarily 
out  of  repair;  the  money-bag  was  sent 
abroad  for  its  health;  the  mouth  had 
an  opportunity  to  explain  some  of  its 
promises  and  retract  the  rest;  and  the 
hoe,  having  marched  in  several  proces 
sions  and  gained  much  experience,  went 
on  hoeing  as  before. 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  this  some 
what  allegorical  description  has  ever 
been  completely  realized,  on  any  large 
scale  in  our  country.  But  certain  frag 
mentary  features  of  it  may  be  dimly 

[59] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

recognized,  here  and  there,  in  our  poli 
tics.  Men  whose  chief  distinction  is  their 
wealth,  men  whose  only  profession  is 
the  manipulation  of  political  wires,  (un 
derground,)  men  who  are  related  to 
real  statesmen  as  quacks  to  real  physi 
cians,  have  at  times  found  their  way 
into  our  ruling  classes.  Their  presence 
is  a  menace  to  the  integrity  and  security 
of  the  democracy. 

Legislation  hostile  to  wealth  is  politi 
cal  brigandage.  Legislation  subservient 
to  wealth  is  political  suicide.  It  cannot 
be  denied  that  "money  talks."  The 
thing  to  be  prevented  is  that  money 
should  talk  with  more  tongues  than  be 
long  to  it,  and  that  it  should  say  things 
that  are  neither  true  nor  just,  and  that 
these  things  should  be  made  laws  for 
the  people. 

It  is  not  likely  that  rich  men,  by  virtue 
of  their  riches,  will  ever  become  the 

[60] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

ruling  class  in  this  country,  in  the  open. 
The  natural  operation  of  jealousy  and 
envy  will  take  care  of  that.  The  posses 
sion  of  a  large  estate,  in  the  eyes  of 
those  who  do  not  consider  how  it  was 
acquired  nor  how  it  is  used,  will  always 
be  a  cause  of  suspicion,  often,  as  in  the 
case  of  Washington,  most  ungenerous 
and  unjust.  But  that  rich  men  should 
endeavor  to  control  legislation,  local 
and  national,  in  their  own  interest,  and 
to  secure  influence  and  thus  to  become  a 
ruling  class  in  secret,  is  more  than  like 
ly.  It  is  natural.  It  is  a  fact. 

But  what  makes  it  possible  in  a  democ 
racy?  No  one  could  buy  a  vote  if  some 
one  else  were  not  willing  to  sell  a  vote. 
No  one  could  run  a  legislature  from 
his  office  if  there  were  not  a  lobby  at 
the  capitol.  No  lobby  could  do  business 
if  there  were  not  a  machine.  And  no 
machine  can  fulfil  the  law  of  its  own 

[61] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

being  without  evolving  a  Boss.  Here 
is  the  law  of  development  of  this  spe 
cies  of  political  creature:  First  a  soci 
ety;  then  a  faction;  then  a  gang;  then 
a  clique ;  then  a  ring ;  then  a  Big  Four, 
or  Five,  or  Six;  then  a  Boss. 

There  are  States  in  this  country  where 
a  single  man  has  owned  virtually  all 
the  places,  from  the  mayoralty  of  the 
biggest  town  down  to  the  postmaster- 
ship  of  the  smallest  village.  There  are 
cities  in  this  country  where  the  public 
franchises,  the  public  pay-roll,  and  the 
public  offices  have  been  for  years  prac 
tically  under  the  control  of  a  secret  so 
ciety,  and  this  secret  society  under  con 
trol  of  a  chief  as  autocratic  as  Rob  Roy 
or  Robin  Hood.  This  is  a  ruling  class 
with  a  vengeance.  This  is  democracy 
deformed. 

It  would  not  be  so  bad,  perhaps,  if  it 
were  an  intelligent,  benevolent,  public- 

[62] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

spirited  despotism.  But,  usually,  this 
kind  of  rule  is  marked  by  shrewd  igno 
rance,  crass  selfishness,  bold  dishonesty. 
Its  dark  consummate  flower  was  William 
M.  Tweed,  of  New  York,  who  reigned 
over  the  city  for  seven  years;  stole 
$6,000,000  or  more  for  himself,  and 
$60,000,000  or  more  for  his  foUowers; 
was  indorsed  at  the  height  of  his  cor 
ruption  by  six  of  the  richest  citizens  of 
the  metropolis;  had  a  public  statue  of 
fered  to  him  by  The  New  York  Sun  as 
a  "noble  benefactor  of  the  city";  and 
summed  up  his  career,  at  the  time  of 
his  commitment  to  the  penitentiary,  in 
the  following  conversation  with  the 
warden : 
"What  is  your  occupation?"  "States 


man." 


"What  is  your  religion?"  "None." 
It  is  an  error  to  assume,  and  a  crime 
to  assert,  that  rulers  of  this  type  are 

[63] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

common  in  our  country.  The  Tweeds 
are  not  normal;  they  are  exceptional. 
They  have  not  yet  become  endemic, 
though  in  certain  localities  they  seem 
almost  epidemic.  They  have  not  in 
fected  the  higher  levels  of  national  gov 
ernment,  but  they  have  sometimes  made 
themselves  felt  there.  And  their  pres 
ence,  the  power  that  they  wield  through 
the  poor  man  whom  they  cajole  and  de 
ceive,  and  through  the  rich  man  whom 
they  threaten  and  serve,  the  possibilities 
of  wider  and  deeper  corruption  which 
they  suggest,  ought  to  remind  us  that 
the  democratic  method  of  selecting  rul 
ers,  although,  (or  perhaps  because,)  it 
is  the  highest  and  most  reasonable, 
needs  to  be  all  the  more  closely  watched, 
safeguarded,  and  defended  against  its 
own  inherent  dangers. 

What,  then,  is  the  safeguard  of  de 
mocracy   in   the   choice   of  the   ruling 

F641 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

classes?  We  have  certainly  put  all  our 
eggs  into  the  basket  of  popular  suf 
frage.  How  shall  we  watch  and  protect 
that  basket?  • 

Education  is  the  only  possible  safe 
guard  which  is  in  harmony  with  our 
principles  and  has  the  power  to  defend 
our  institutions  without  enslaving  them. 
I  know  not  how  this  truth  could  be 
expressed  more  lucidly  than  it  was 
stated  in  the  charter  of  the  University 
of  Georgia  in  1785: 

As  it  is  the  distinguishing  happiness  of  her 
governments  that  civil  order  should  be  the  result 
of  choice  and  not  of  necessity,  and  the  common 
wishes  of  the  people  become  the  law  of  the  land, 
their  public  prosperity  and  even  existence  very 
much  depend  upon  suitably  forming  the  minds 
and  morals  of  their  citizens.  .  .  .  This  is  an  in 
fluence  beyond  the  reach  of  laws  and  punish 
ments,  and  can  be  claimed  only  by  religion  and 
education. 

"Platitudes!"  some  votary  of  novelty 
exclaims.  Then  so  are  virtue  and  honour 

[65] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

and  patriotism  platitudes.  It  is  by  for 
getting  platitudes  that  men  and  nations 
are  ruined.  Platitudes  are  truths  that 
are  flat,  level,  and  therefore  fitted  to  use 
as  foundations.  It  is  by  building  on 
such  foundations  that  social  and  politi 
cal  fabrics  are  made  firm,  square,  and 
enduring. 

"The  first  need  of  our  country,"  said 
Lord  Rosebery  in  his  Rectorial  Ad 
dress  before  the  University  of  Glasgow 
in  1900,  "is  the  want  of  men.  We  want 
men  for  all  sorts  of  high  positions — 
first-rate  men,  if  possible;  if  not,  as 
nearly  first-rate  as  may  be." 

But  what  means  of  producing  first- 
rate  men  has  been  discovered,  except 
education?  I  do  not  mean  that  kind  of 
education  which  adorns  a  chosen  few 
with  the  tinsel  gewgaws  of  useless  ac 
complishments.  I  mean  that  nobler  edu 
cation  which  aims  to  draw  out  and  dis- 

[66] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

cipline  all  that  is  best  in  manhood — to 
make  the  mind  clear  and  firm  by  study, 
the  body  strong  and  obedient  by  exer 
cise,  the  moral  sense  confident  and  in 
flexible  by  disclosing  the  eternal  prin 
ciples  upon  which  it  rests. 

What  means  except  education  can 
produce  that  other  kind  of  men,  whom 
Lord  Rosebery  did  not  mention,  but 
who  are  no  less  essential  to  the  welfare 
of  a  democracy — men  who  are  capable 
of  recognizing  first-rate  men,  and 
choosing  them  for  the  ruling  classes? 

It  is  of  little  use  for  a  republic  to  have 
higher  institutions  of  learning  produc 
ing  men  of  wisdom  and  power,  unless 
it  has  also  a  system  of  general,  nay,  of 
universal,  education  producing  popular 
respect  for  humane  wisdom  and  right 
eous  power.  The  university  at  the  sum 
mit,  reaching  as  high  as  human  intelli 
gence  can  go,  the  common  school  at  the 

[07] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

basis,  spreading  as  wide  as  human  nat 
ure  itself,  and  between  them  the  best 
attainable  system  of  grammar  schools 
and  high  schools  and  academies,  and 
branching  out  from  them  an  ever-de 
veloping  organization  of  technical  and 
professional  institutions — these  are  the 
defences  of  the  republic. 

It  was  the  opinion  of  Thomas  Jeffer 
son  that  the  best  service  he  rendered  to 
his  countrymen  was  in  the  thought 
which  he  gave  to  the  unfolding  of  this 
doctrine,  and  the  work  which  he  did  to 
put  it  into  practice  in  Virginia.  Cer 
tainly  there  was  no  other  way  in  which 
he  showed  more  truly  that  he  was  a 
democrat. 

Suppose,  for  example,  that  we  are 
compelled  to  meet  practically  one  of 
the  dangers  which  are  inherent  in  gov 
ernment  by  democracy.  Suppose  that 
by  the  extension  of  the  suffrage  the 

[68] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

power  of  choosing  rulers  has  come  into 
the  hands  of  a  mass  of  ignorant  voters 
like  the  negroes  in  some  of  the  South 
ern  States.  They  are  coherent  in  their 
action,  because  they  are  bound  together 
by  racial  and  social  ties;  incoherent  in 
their  judgment,  because  their  only  real 
unity  lies  in  the  absence  of  knowledge 
and  fixed  principle.  This  coherent  mass 
of  incoherency,  like  a  cargo  of  loose 
wheat  in  the  hold  of  a  ship,  will  imperil 
the  equilibrium  of  the  state  in  every 
hour  of  storm  and  stress. 

The  privilege  of  suffrage  bestowed  on 
ignorance  is  not  a  protection  of  natural 
rights;  it  is  a  detriment  to  them.  It  is 
like  a  diamond  hung  around  the  neck 
of  a  child,  an  invitation  to  kidnappers; 
like  a  can  of  dynamite  in  the  hands  of 
a  fool,  a  prophecy  of  explosion.  But 
how  is  the  difficulty  to  be  removed,  the 
danger  to  be  averted?  Only  two  meth- 

[69] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

ods  are  possible:  the  restriction  of  the 
suffrage :  the  education  of  the  ignorant. 

The  restriction  of  the  suffrage  is  a 
temporary  expedient.  It  may  be  wise, 
it  may  even  be  indispensable  under  cer 
tain  conditions.  Certainly  there  can  be 
no  objection  to  it,  if  it  be  accomplished 
through  laws  which  are  alike  for  all  and 
uncoloured  by  prejudice.  But  at  best  it 
goes  no  further  than  that  process  which 
physicians  call  the  encystment  of  a  tu 
mour.  It  shuts  the  evil  up  in  a  sac,  but 
does  not  take  it  away.  The  man  who 
does  not  know  enough  to  be  trusted 
with  a  vote  can  never  be  a  pleasant  or 
a  safe  neighbour.  The  man  who  is  too 
ignorant  to  choose  his  own  rulers  will 
never  be  an  easy  citizen  for  anyone  to 
rule. 

But  education,  though  a  slow  remedy, 
is  thorough-going.  It  reaches  the  root  of 
the  disease.  Wisdom  and  justice  alike 

[70] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

demand  that  the  permanent  cure  should 
be  used  even  while  the  temporary  pal 
liative  is  applied.  A  wise  and  loyal  de 
mocracy  will  never  restrict  the  suffrage 
by  an  educational  qualification,  without 
providing,  at  the  same  time,  the  educa 
tional  privileges  which  will  give  all  its 
citizens  an  opportunity  to  rise  above  the 
level  of  the  restriction. 

The  amount  of  money  to  be  expended 
by  a  democracy  in  public  education  is 
to  be  measured  by  the  standard  of  in 
telligent  manhood  which  it  sets  for  its 
citizens.  The  standard,  I  say,  for,  after 
all,  in  these  matters  it  is  the  silent  ideal 
in  the  hearts  of  the  people  which  moulds 
character  and  guides  action.  What  is 
your  ideal  of  a  right  American?  The 
answer  to  that  question  will  determine 
whether  you  think  we  ought  to  do  more 
or  less  for  popular  education. 

For  my  part,  I  reckon  that,  as  the  en- 

[71] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

lightenment  and  discipline  of  manhood 
is  the  best  safeguard  of  a  democracy, 
so  it  ought  to  be  the  object  of  our 
chief  care  and  our  largest  expenditure. 

If  our  naval  and  military  expenses 
ever  surpass  or  even  equal  our  educa 
tional  expenses,  we  shall  be  on  the 
wrong  track.  If  we  ever  put  the  for 
tress  and  the  fleet  above,  or  even  on  a 
level  with,  the  schoolhouse  and  the  uni 
versity,  our  sense  of  perspective  will  be 
out  of  focus.  If  we  ever  spend  more  to 
inspire  awe  and  fear  in  other  peoples 
than  to  cultivate  intelligence  and  char 
acter  in  our  own,  we  shall  be  on  the 
road  to  the  worst  kind  of  bankruptcy, 
— a  bankruptcy  of  men. 

We  want  the  common  school  more 
generously  supported  and  more  intel 
ligently  directed,  so  that  the  power  to 
read  and  think  shall  become  the  prop 
erty  of  all,  and  so  that  the  principles 

[721 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

of  morality,  which  must  be  based  on 
religion,  shall  be  taught  to  every  Amer 
ican  child.  We  want  the  door  between 
the  common  school  and  the  university 
wide  open,  so  that  the  path  which  leads 
upward  from  the  little  red  schoolhouse 
to  the  highest  temple  of  learning  shall 
be  free,  and  the  path  that  leads  down 
ward  from  academic  halls  to  the  low 
liest  dwelling  and  workshop  of  instruc 
tion  shall  be  honourable.  We  want  a 
community  of  interest  and  a  coopera 
tion  of  forces  between  the  public-school 
teacher  and  the  college  faculty.  We 
want  academic  freedom,  so  that  the  in 
stitutions  of  learning  may  be  free  from 
all  suspicion  of  secret  control  by  the 
money-bag  or  the  machine.  We  want 
democratic  universities,  where  a  man  is 
honoured  only  for  what  he  is  and  what 
he  knows.  We  want  American  educa 
tion,  so  that  every  citizen  shall  not  only 

[73] 


RULING  CLASSES  IN  A  DEMOCRACY 

believe  in  democracy,  but  know  what  it 
means,  what  it  costs,  and  what  it  is 
worth. 

"  O  throned  Freedom,  unto  thee  is  brought 

Empire ;    nor  falsehood,  nor  blood-payment 

asked ; 
Who   never   through    deceit   thine  ends   hast 

sought, 

Nor  toiling  millions  for  ambition  tasked  ; 
Unlike  the  fools  who  build  the  throne 

Of  fraud  and  wrong  and  woe  ; 
For  man  at  last  will  take  his  own, 

Nor  count  the  overthrow ; 
But  far  from  these  is  set  thy  continent, 

Nor  fears  the  Revolution  in  man's  rise ; 
On  laws  that  with  the  weal  of  all  consent, 

And  saving  truths  that  make  the  people  wise. 
For  thou  art  founded  in  the  eternal  fact 
That  every  man  doth  greaten  with  the  act 
Of  freedom ;    and   doth    strengthen   with    the 

weight 

Of  duty ;  and  diviner  moulds  his  fate, 
By  sharp  experience  taught  the  thing  he  lacked, 
God' s  pupil ;  thy  large  maxim  framed,  though 

late, 

Who   masters    best   himself    best   serves    the 
State." 

[74] 


Ill 

PUBLICOMAlXriA 

IT  is  a  strange  thing  to  see  how  deeply 
certain  people  of  our  time  have  been 
smitten  with  a  form  of  insanity  which 
we  may  call,  for  want  of  a  dictionary 
word,  publicomania.  The  name  is  rather 
ugly,  and  altogether  irregular,  being  of 
mixed  Latin  and  Greek  descent.  But 
it  is  no  worse  than  the  thing  it  describes, 
which  is,  in  fact,  a  sort  of  mongrel 
madness.  It  has  some  kinship  with  the 
Roman  Grandio's  passion  for  celebrity 
which  Seneca  satirized,  and  not  a  lit 
tle  likeness  to  the  petty  ostentation 
of  Beau  Tibbs  at  which  Goldsmith 
laughed  kindly  in  London  a  century 
ago. 

f75] 


PUBLICOMANIA 

But  in  our  own  day  the  disease  has 
developed  a  new  symptom.  It  is  not 
enough  to  be  pointed  out  with  the  fore 
finger  of  notoriety:  the  finger  which 
points  must  be  stained  with  printer's 
ink.  The  craving  for  publicity  is  not 
satisfied  with  anything  but  a  paragraph 
in  the  newspapers ;  then  it  wants  a  col 
umn;  and  finally  it  demands  a  whole 
page  with  illustrations.  The  delusion 
consists  in  the  idea  that  a  sufficient 
quantity  of  this  kind  of  notoriety 
amounts  to  fame. 

It  is  astonishing  to  observe  how  much 
time,  ingenuity,  money,  and  vital  ener 
gy,  people  who  are  otherwise  quite  sane, 
will  spend  for  the  sake  of  having  their 
names  and  unimportant  doings  chroni 
cled,  in  a  form  of  print  which  can  be 
preserved  only  in  private  and  very  in 
convenient  scrap-books.  In  England, 
where  they  have  a  hereditary  aristocracy 

[76] 


PUBLICOMANIA 

and  a  Court  Journal,  the  mania  seems 
less  difficult  to  understand.  But  in  this 
country,  where  the  limits  of  the  "smart 
set"  are  confessedly  undefined  and  inde 
finable,  changing  with  the  fluctuations 
of  the  stock-market  and  the  rise  and  fall 
of  real  estate,  it  is  impossible  to  con 
ceive  what  benefit  or  satisfaction  rea 
sonable  beings  can  derive  from  a  tem 
porary  enrolment  among  the  assistants 
at  fashionable  weddings,  the  guests  at 
luxurious  banquets,  or  the  mourners  at 
magnificent  funerals. 

Our  wonder  increases  when  we  con 
sider  that  there  is  hardly  a  detail  of  pri 
vate  life,  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave, 
which  is  not  now  regarded  as  appropri 
ate  for  publication,  provided  only  the 
newspapers  are  induced  to  take  an  in 
terest  in  it.  The  interest  of  the  public  is 
taken  for  granted.  Formerly  the  intru 
sion  of  reporters  into  such  affairs  was 

[771 


PUBLICOMANIA 

resented.  Now  it  is  their  occasional  neg 
lect  to  intrude  which  causes  chagrin. 

If  we  could  suppose  that  all  this  was 
only  a  subtle  and  highly  refined  mode  of 
advertisement,  it  would  be  comparative 
ly  easy  to  account  for  it.  There  would 
be  method  in  the  madness.  But  why  in 
the  world  should  a  man  or  a  woman  care 
to  advertise  things  which  are  not  to  be 
sold — a  wedding  trousseau,  the  decora 
tions  of  a  bedroom,  a  dinner  to  friends, 
or  the  flowers  which  conceal  a  coffin? 
We  can  see  well  enough  why  a  dealer 
in  old  silver  should  be  pleased  at  having 
his  wares  described  in  the  newspapers. 
But  what  interest  has  Mr.  Newman 
Biggs  in  having  the  public  made  aware 
of  the  splendour  and  solidity  of  his 
plate  ? 

Of  course  one  must  recognize  that 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  public  life.  It 
is  natural  and  reasonable  that  those  who 

[78] 


PUBLICOMANIA 

are  engaged  in  it  should  accept  public 
ity,  and  even  seek  it  within  proper  lim 
its,  so  far  as  it  may  be  a  necessary  con 
dition  of  success  in  their  work.  Authors 
and  artists  wish  to  have  their  books  read 
and  their  pictures  looked  at.  Statesmen 
and  reformers  desire  to  have  their  poli 
cies  and  principles  discussed,  in  order 
that  they  may  be  adopted.  Benefactors 
of  mankind  wish  at  least  to  have  their 
schools  and  hospitals  and  libraries  re 
ceived  with  as  much  attention  as  may 
be  needed  to  make  them  useful. 

But  why  the  people  who  are  chiefly 
occupied  in  eating  and  drinking,  mar 
rying  and  giving  in  marriage,  should 
wish  to  have  their  lives  turned  inside 
out  on  the  news-stands  passes  compre 
hension.  They  subject  themselves  to  all 
the  inconveniences  of  royalty  (being,  as 
Montaigne  says,  "in  all  the  daily  ac 
tions  of  life  encircled  and  hemmed  in 

[79] 


PUBLICOMANIA 

by  an  importunate  and  tedious  multi 
tude"),  without  any  of  its  compensa 
tions.  They  are  exposed  by  their  own 
fantastic  choice  to  what  Cowley  called 
"a  quotidian  ague  of  frigid  imperti 
nences,"  and  they  get  nothing  for  it 
but  the  disadvantage  of  being  talked 
about.  The  result  of  their  labours  and 
sufferings  is  simply  to  bring  them  to 
the  condition  of  a  certain  Dr.  William 
Kenrick,  of  whom  old  Samuel  Johnson 
said,  "Sir,  he  is  one  of  those  who  have 
made  themselves  public  without  mak 
ing  themselves  known." 

But  if  we  are  inclined  to  be  scornful 
of  the  vagaries  of  publicomania,  this 
feeling  must  surely  be  softened  into 
something  milder  and  more  humane 
when  we  reflect  upon  the  unhappy  state 
of  mind  to  which  it  reduces  those  who 
are  afflicted  with  it.  They  are  not  as 
other  men,  to  whom  life  is  sweet  for  its 

rsoi 


PUBLICOMANIA 

own  sake.  The  feasts  to  which  they  are 
bidden  leave  them  hungry  unless  their 
presence  is  recorded  in  the  Daily  Eaves 
dropper.  They  are  restless  in  their 
summer  rest  unless  their  comings  and 
goings  are  printed  in  the  chronicle 
of  fashionable  intelligence.  Their  new 
houses  do  not  please  them  if  the  news 
paper  fails  to  give  sufficient  space  to 
the  announcement  that  they  are  "at 
home."  It  is  a  miserable  condition,  and 
one  from  which  all  obscure  and  happy 
persons  should  pray  to  be  delivered. 

There  is,  however,  consolation  for  true 
lovers  of  humanity  in  the  thought  that 
the  number  of  people  who  are  afflicted 
with  this  insanity  in  an  incurable  form 
is  comparatively  small.  They  make  a 
great  noise,  like  Edmund  Burke's  com 
pany  of  vociferous  grasshoppers  under 
a  leaf  in  the  field  where  a  thousand 
cattle  are  quietly  feeding;  but,  after 

[81] 


PUBLICCMANIA 

all,  the  great  silent  classes  are  in  the 
majority.  The  common  sense  of  man 
kind  agrees  with  the  poet  Horace  in  his 
excellent  praise  of  the  joys  of  retire 
ment: 

"Secretum  iter,  et  fallentis  semita  vitae." 

One  of  the  best  antidotes  and  cures  of 
the  craze  for  publicity  is  a  love  of 
poetry  and  of  the  things  that  belong 
to  poetry — the  beauty  of  nature,  the 
sweetness  and  splendour  of  the  com 
mon  human  affections,  and  those  high 
thoughts  and  unselfish  aspirations  which 
are  the  enduring  treasures  of  the  soul. 
It  is  good  to  remember  that  the  finest 
and  most  beautiful  things  that  can  ever 
come  to  us  cannot  possibly  be  news  to 
the  public.  It  is  good  to  find  the  zest  of 
life  in  that  part  of  it  which  does  not 
need,  and  will  not  bear,  to  be  advertised. 
It  is  good  to  talk  with  our  friends, 

[82] 


PUBLICOMANIA 

knowing  that  they  will  not  report  us; 
and  to  play  with  the  children,  knowing 
that  no  one  is  looking  at  us;  and  to  eat 
our  meat  with  gladness  and  singleness 
of  heart.  It  is  good  to  recognize  that 
the  object  of  all  true  civilization  is  that 
a  man's  house,  rich  or  poor,  shall  be  his 
castle,  and  not  his  dime  museum.  It  is 
good  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  Words 
worth's  noble  sonnet,  and,  turning  back 
to  "the  good  old  cause,"  thank  God  for 
those  safeguards  of  the  private  life 
which  still  preserve  in  many  homes 

"  Our  peace,  our  fearful  innocence, 
And  pure  religion  breathing  household  laws." 


OF  THE 

(    UNIVERSITY 

OF 


[83] 


IV 

THE   HERITAGE   OF  AMERI 
CAN  IDEALS 

No  banquet  of  an  ancestral  character 
can  be  held  in  the  United  States  of 
America,  whether  under  the  banner 
of  St.  George,  or  of  St.  Nicholas,  or  of 
the  uncanonized  saints  of  Plymouth 
Rock,  without  a  more  or  less  oratorical 
recognition  that  our  American  stock  is 
the  product  of  a  happy  mixture. 

The  Puritan  strain  in  our  American 
social  life  is  too  well  known  to  need  de 
scription.  Personal  independence,  relig 
ious  intensity,  ethical  earnestness  miti 
gated  by  commercial  activity  —  this 
strain  has  made  its  mark  deep  on  our 
American  history. 

[84] 


THE    HERITAGE   OF   AMERICAN   IDEALS 

The  Dutch  influence  has  not  been  so 
deep,  but  perhaps  it  has  been  broader. 
Free  education. and  religious  toleration 
came  to  this  country  from  Holland. 
The  Quakers  could  not  live  in  the  air 
of  New  England  in  the  seventeenth 
century,  but  they  found  the  atmosphere 
of  Xew  Amsterdam  more  hospitable. 
William  Penn,  who  set  the  example  of 
giving  to  the  consciences  of  others  the 
same  freedom  that  he  claimed  for  his 
own,  had  a  Dutch  mother.  Religious 
liberty  (which,  take  it  all  in  all,  is  the 
most  precious  possession  of  America) 
is  a  watchword  translated  from  the 
Dutch.  It  was  William  of  Orange 
who  put  it  in  immortal  language 
when  he  said,  "Conscience  is  God's 
province." 

The  Cavalier  influence  has  been  a 
strain  of  grace,  of  dignity,  of  amenity; 
a  sentiment  of  chivalry;  a  feeling  of 

[85] 


THE   HERITAGE   OF   AMERICAN   IDEALS 

national  pride  and  honour  permeating 
all  of  our  social  life ;  and  it  has  actually 
been  one  of  the  most  powerful  factors 
in  consolidating  the  Republic.  In  the 
Federal  Convention,  "the  Virginia 
plan"  first  held  forth  the  idea  of  a 
strong  nation  as  distinguished  from 
a  loose  confederation.  It  was  around 
the  personal  character  of  Washington 
that  all  the  scattered  forces  of  possible 
American  citizenship  first  centred  and 
crystallized.  Without  that  great  soldier- 
cavalier  the  Colonies  hardly  could  have 
freed  themselves;  without  that  greater 
citizen-cavalier  the  States  never  could 
have  united  themselves. 

The  streams  that  have  entered  into 
our  American  life  come  from  springs 
very  wide  apart — from  the  Puritans 
whom  James  I.  was  persecuting,  and 
from  the  courtiers  whom  he  was  pat 
ronizing;  from  the  Dutchmen  whom 

[86] 


THE    HERITAGE   OF   AMERICAN   IDEALS 

Charles  II.  was  fighting,  and  from  the 
Covenanters  whom  he  was  trying  to 
convert  at  the  .pistol's  point ;  from  the 
Scotchmen  who  had  captured  the  north 
of  Ireland,  and  from  the  Huguenots 
who  had  been  driven  out  of  the  south 
of  France. 

Yet  with  all  these  differences  of  an 
cestral  stock,  Americans  have  a  common 
and  undivided  heritage  of  ancestral 
ideals.  They  are  the  fruits  of  that  un 
derlying  unity  of  convictions,  hopes, 
and  purposes  which  made  our  fore 
fathers  one  people.  A  love  of  liberty 
strong  enough  to  harmonize  different 
ways  of  conceiving  it;  a  reverence  for 
the  rights  of  humanity  deep  enough  to 
reconcile  different  ways  of  defending 
it;  and  a  faith  in  God  high  enough  to 
make  room  at  last  for  all  modes  of  ex 
pressing  it — these  essential  qualities  of 
manhood  made  the  best  men  of  the 

[87] 


THE   HERITAGE   OF   AMERICAN   IDEALS 

Northern  and  the  Middle  and  the 
Southern  Colonies  able  to  understand 
one  another,  and  worked  out  through 
years  of  tribulation  and  triumph  those 
inherited  ideals  which  are  the  true  riches 
and  strength  of  America. 

We  have  an  inherited  ideal  of  Amer 
ican  manhood.  We  are  not  waiting  for 
this  ideal  to  arise ;  we  are  not  expecting 
that  it  will  be  discovered  and  identified 
for  us  by  any  of  those  British  authors 
who  come  over  here  looking  for  "the 
typical  American."  We  do  not  even  rec 
ognize  it  very  clearly  in  Mr.  Rudyard 
Kipling's  extraordinary  portrait: 

"Enslaved,  illogical,  elate, 

He  greets  the  embarrassed  gods,  nor  fears 
To  shake  the  iron  hand  of  fate, 
Or  match  with  Destiny  for  beers. 

(f  Lo,  imperturbable  he  rules, 

Unkempt,  disreputable,  vast, 
And  in  the  teeth  of  all  the  schools 
I — I,  shall  save  him  at  the  last." 
[88] 


THE    HERITAGE   OF   AMERICAN    IDEALS 

This  verse,  like  much  of  Mr.  Kipling's 
writing,  has  the  charm  of  audacity,  but 
it  is  hardly  a  happy  description  of  our 
ancestral  ideal  of  American  manhood. 
We  look  back  to  that  ideal  as  it  was 
realized  in  the  days  of  the  Revolution, 
and  we  see  that  its  typical  representa 
tives  were  neither  enslaved  nor  illogical, 
neither  unkempt  nor  disreputable.  The 
men  who  made  this  country,  and  led  it 
from  the  beginning,  were  men  of  intel 
ligence  as  well  as  of  independence,  men 
of  dignity  as  well  as  of  daring,  men  of 
sobriety  as  well  as  of  self-confidence. 
Lowell  was  wrong  when  he  called  Lin 
coln  "the  first  American."  Lincoln  was 
a  great,  an  unsurpassably  great,  Amer 
ican,  but  he  was  not  the  first.  Washing 
ton,  Franklin,  Jay,  Adams,  Jefferson 

—these  were  all  Americans  before  Lin 
coln. 

The  differences  in  manner,  speech,  and 

[89] 


THE   HERITAGE   OF   AMERICAN   IDEALS 

dress  among  our  ancestors  do  not  ob 
scure  the  fundamental  resemblance  of 
their  manhood.  Along  the  Yankee  line 
we  see  such  names  as  Hancock,  Ells 
worth,  Sherman,  Putnam,  Greene,  and 
Lincoln.  Along  the  Cavalier  line  we 
trace  the  records  of  a  Washington,  a 
Madison,  a  Pinckney,  a  Randolph,  a 
Lee.  Along  the  Dutch  line  we  see  such 
men  as  Schuyler,  Livingston,  DeWitt 
Clinton,  Van  Buren.  These  men  come 
of  different  stock,  but  they  are  not 
strangers,  they  are  not  aliens,  they  are 
of  the  same  breed ;  and  while  that  breed 
lasts  we  shall  not  need  to  ask  any  for 
eign  critic  to  identify  the  typical  Amer 
ican.  He  has  arrived.  He  is  no  bully 
with  his  breeches  tucked  in  his  boots; 
he  is  no  braggart  with  a  wild,  bar 
baric  yawp.  This  typical  American  is 
a  clear-eyed,  level-headed,  straightfor 
ward,  educated,  self-respecting  gentle- 

[90] 


THE    HERITAGE   OF   AMERICAN   IDEALS 

man  with  frank  manners  and  firm 
convictions,  who  acts  on  the  principle 
that— 

"  The  rank  is  but  the  guinea's  stamp, 
A  man's  a  man,  for  a'  that." 

We  have  also  inherited  an  ideal  of 
American  government.  The  men  who 
met  in  Independence  Hall  in  1776  had  . 
a  very  distinct  conviction  in  their  minds, 
and  they  had  the  capacity  to  express  it 
in  clear  language.  They  believed  that 
"government  derives  its  just  powers 
from  the  consent  of  the  governed." 
They  believed  that  all  men  are  born 
equal,  not  in  personal  gifts,  but  in 
their  rights  to  life,  liberty,  and  the  pur 
suit  of  happiness.  They  believed  that 
taxation  without  representation  is  not 
government,  but  tyranny;  that  the  sub 
jection  of  an  unwilling  people  to  for 
eign  jurisdiction  is  tyranny;  that  the 
exaltation  of  the  military  over  the  civil 

[91] 


THE   HERITAGE   OF   AMERICAN   IDEALS 

power  is  tyranny.  All  these  things 
they  believed,  and  to  maintain  them 
they  pledged  their  life,  their  property, 
and  their  sacred  honour. 

That  proclamation  heralded  the  birth 
of  a  new  ideal  of  government.  It  con 
tained  three  vital  principles — free  con 
sent,  equal  rights,  and  legal  self-control. 
It  recognized  in  simple  manhood,  as 
Lowell  so  well  said,  "a  certain  privilege 
and  adequacy,"  and  it  trusted  manhood 
for  the  defence  and  development  of  its 
own  rights.  That  was  a  daring  trust — 
a  trust  which  astounded  the  old  world. 
Such  an  ideal  of  government  involved 
not  only  an  inspiration  but  also  a  re 
straint.  When  our  forefathers  adopted 
it,  a  little  more  than  a  hundred  years 
ago,  they  knew  that  it  involved  a  sepa 
ration  from  the  old  world;  but  they 
regarded  that  separation  as  a  benefit; 
they  believed  that  as  this  new  ideal  of 

[92] 


THE   HERITAGE   OF   AMERICAN   IDEALS 

government  was  separated  from  old 
ideals  it  would  have  a  better  chance  to 
develop  into  something  higher,  purer, 
and  stronger.  They  trusted  that  ideal 
well  enough  to  follow  it,  believing  that 
it  would  bring  them  prosperity,  fame, 
and  good  renown.  And  so  it  did. 

There  are  serious  objections  to  such 
an  ideal,  of  course.  From  the  theoretical 
side,  for  instance,  the  famous  historian 
Lecky  tells  us  that  democracy  is  a  fal 
lacy  and  that  its  failure  will  be  proved. 
From  the  practical  side  a  "statesman" 
like  Mr.  Cecil  Rhodes  tells  us  that  if 
we  wait  for  the  consent  of  inferior  races 
before  we  take  possession  of  their  terri 
tory,  we  shall  miss  the  chance  of  trade. 
These  objections,  and  others  like  them, 
have  always  been  urged  against  the 
ideal  of  republicanism  which  was  set 
forth  by  our  ancestors.  At  times  they 
have  even  seemed  to  produce  a  kind  of 

[93] 


THE   HERITAGE   OF   AMERICAN   IDEALS 

vacillation  and  weather-cockiness  in  cer 
tain  sections  of  the  public  mind. 

But,  on  the  whole,  the  American  peo 
ple  have  followed,  with  a  few  inconsist 
encies,  their  inherited  ideal  of  govern 
ment  with  marvellous  fidelity  and  still 
more  marvelous  success.  Those  incon 
sistencies  were  the  cause  of  our  most  sig 
nal  failures  until  we  rectified  them  by 
emancipating  the  slaves  and  opening 
citizens'  rights  to  the  Indians. 

There  cannot  possibly  be  any  more 
optimistic  view  of  the  Republic  to-day 
than  that  which  recognizes  in  the  tri 
umphant  success  of  our  democracy  the 
vindication  of  that  ideal  which  was 
conceived  by  our  ancestors.  Without 
militarism  it  has  made  the  power  of 
America  felt  around  the  globe.  With 
out  colonies  or  dependencies  it  has  en 
abled  America  to  outstrip,  in  her  export 
trade,  the  colonial  empires.  Without 

[94] 


THE   HERITAGE   OF   AMERICAN   IDEALS 

conquering  subject  races  America  ex 
panded  her  population,  in  a  hundred 
years,  from  three  millions  to  seventy- 
five  millions. 

The  ideal  of  a  nation  conceived  in  lib 
erty  and  dedicated  to  the  proposition 
that  all  men  are  born  with  equal  rights, 
is  to-day  the  most  potent  and  prosper 
ous  ideal  in  all  the  world.  All  that  this 
country  needs  is  to  be  true  to  it,  and 
she  will  lead  mankind  for  many  cen 
turies  to  come. 

But  was  there  an  ideal  of  the  future 
glory  and  world-power  of  America 
among  those  which  we  inherited?  Did 
our  forefathers  know  anything  about 
it?  Did  it  come  within  their  horizon? 
There  are  those  who  tell  us  that  the 
builders  of  the  Republic  were  too  short 
sighted  to  behold  this  vision.  We  are 
asked  to  believe  that  their  eyes  were  not 
opened  in  regard  to  the  greatness  of 

[95] 


THE    HERITAGE    OF   AMERICAN    IDEALS 

America  as  a  nation,  and  that  therefore 
their  counsels  are  inapplicable  to  the 
days  of  our  prosperity.  We  are  asked 
to  believe  that  they  did  not  dream  of 
the  future  greatness  of  the  country 
which  they  founded,  otherwise  they 
would  have  founded  it  differently.  I  do 
not  believe  it. 

The  representative  of  Spain  at  the 
Paris  Convention  in  1783,  Count  Aran- 
da,  wrote  to  his  monarch,  in  regard  to 
America,  as  follows:  "This  federal  Re 
public  is  born  a  pygmy.  The  day  will 
come  when  it  will  be  a  giant,  a  Colossus, 
formidable  even  in  these  countries.  Lib 
erty  of  conscience,  the  facility  for  es 
tablishing  a  new  population  on  immense 
lands,  as  well  as  the  advantages  of 
a  new  governmnet,  will  draw  thither 
farmers  and  artisans  from  all  the  na 
tions."  That  was  a  Spanish  vision  of 
jealousy  and  fear.  Is  it  likely  that  our 

[96] 


THE   HERITAGE   OF   AMERICAN   IDEALS 

forefathers  were  too  blind  to  behold 
that  same  vision  in  joy  and  hope?  No; 
they  saw  it,  and  they  saw  also  how  it 
would  be  realized.  Not  on  the  old  plan 
of  the  Roman  Empire,  hitherto  domi 
nant  throughout  the  world,  that  of  an 
nexation  without  incorporation;  but  on 
the  new  plan  of  the  American  Republic, 
the  plan  of  liberation,  education,  assimi 
lation. 

Turn  to  the  letter  which  Washington 
wrote  to  the  Earl  of  Buchan:  "It  is  my 
sincere  wish  that  united  America  shall 
have  nothing  to  do  with  the  political 
intrigues  or  the  squabbles  of  European 
nations.  To  administer  justice  and  re 
ceive  it  from  every  power  with  whom 
they  are  connected  will,  I  hope,  be  al 
ways  found  the  most  prominent  feature 
of  the  administration  of  this  country; 
and  I  flatter  myself  that  nothing  short 
of  imperious  necessity  can  ever  occasion 
[97] 


THE    HERITAGE    OF   AMERICAN    IDEALS 

a  breach  with  any  of  them.  Under  such 
a  system,  if  we  are  allowed  to  pursue 
it,  the  wealth  of  these  United  States, 
the  agriculture,  the  mechanic  arts,  and 
the  population  will  increase  with  that 
degree  of  rapidity  as  to  baffle  all  calcu 
lation  and  must  surpass  any  idea  your 
Lordship  can  hitherto  have  enter 
tained." 

Turn  to  those  noble  words  of  the  Fare 
well  Address,  in  which  the  greatest 
American  said:  "It  will  be  worthy  of 
a  free,  enlightened,  and  at  no  distant 
period  a  great,  nation  to  give  to  man 
kind  the  magnanimous  and  too  novel 
example  of  a  people  always  guided  by 
an  exalted  sense  of  justice  and  benevo 
lence."  That  is  our  ancestral  ideal  of 
national  glory  and  expansion — not  mili 
tary  conquest,  but  world-wide  influence 
— not  colonies  in  both  hemispheres,  but 
friends,  admirers,  and  imitators  around 

[98] 


THE    HERITAGE    OF   AMERICAN    IDEALS 

the  globe — not  a  flag  planted  in  what 
ever  place  the  hand  of  power  chooses  to 
plant  it,  but  a  flag  that,  wherever  it 
floats,  is  the  •  symbol  of  freedom  and 
equal  rights  for  all.  Democracy  can 
never  be  extended  by  force,  as  you 
would  fling  a  net  over  a  flock  of  birds; 
but  give  it  a  chance  and  it  will  grow,  as 
a  tree  grows,  by  sending  down  its  roots 
into  the  heart  of  humanity  and  lifting 
its  top  toward  the  light  and  spreading 
its  arms  wider  and  wider  until  all  the 
persecuted  flocks  of  heaven  find  refuge 
beneath  its  protecting  shade. 

The  ideal  of  American  manhood,  the 
ideal  of  American  government,  the  ideal 
of  American  glory  and  influence — these 
three  are  the  ancestral  ideals  that  have 
been  the  strength  and  prosperity  of 
America  through  the  nineteenth  cen 
tury.  Will  they  endure  through  the 
twentieth  century? 

[99] 


THE    HERITAGE    OF    AMERICAN    IDEALS 

Already  we  hear,  in  certain  quarters, 
a  prediction  that  they  will  be,  at  least  in 
part,  abandoned.  More  than  this,  there 
is  even  a  demand,  frankly  voiced  by 
some,  that  they  should  be  cast  aside  in 
so  far  as  they  interfere  with  a  new  ideal 
of  military  and  naval  supremacy  and  the 
extension  of  territory  by  force  of  arms. 
This  demand  was  clearly  expressed  by 
the  Professor  of  History  in  Harvard 
University,  writing  in  Harper's  Maga 
zine  some  six  years  ago.  Speaking  of 
the  impossibility  of  applying  the  old 
ideals  of  government  to  the  newly  ac 
quired  territories,  he  says:  "The  only 
alternative  is  the  rule  of  the  few,  and 
those  few  exercising  power  conferred 
by  a  distant  administration.  But  that 
system  means  a  change  in  American 
standards  of  government  and  human 
rights.  We  must  give  up  our  fine  con 
tempt  for  other  nations  which  rule  with 

[100] 


THE   HERITAGE   OF   AMERICAN   IDEALS 

an  iron  hand;  we  must  abandon  the 
principle  that  all  just  government  de 
pends  on  the  consent  of  the  governed; 
we  must  look  on  the  colonial  status  as 
permanent  and  not  a  stage  on  the  way 
to  Statehood;  we  must  begin  to  settle 
difficult  questions  of  religion  and  wor 
ship  by  orders  from  Washington;  we 
must  surround  our  colonial  governors 
with  body-guards  to  arrest  insurgent 
leaders;  we  must  either  yield  part  of 
our  protective  policy  or  give  up  the  pol 
icy  for  which  our  forefathers  fought 
in  the  Revolution,  that  colonies  exist  for 
their  own  benefit  and  not  for  the  ad 
vantage  of  the  mother  country;  we 
must  give  up  our  principle  of  free  in 
tercourse  between  the  parts  of  our  em 
pire  or  else  we  must  admit  the  Chinese 
to  the  continent." 

This  is  a  plain  statement,  made  by  one 
who  approves  the  change  which  he  pre- 

[101] 


THE    HERITAGE    OF   AMERICAN    IDEALS 

diets.  I  think  it  is  true,  though  I  doubt 
whether  the  American  people  have  yet 
begun  to  realize  its  truth,  or  to  weigh 
the  price  which  must  be  paid  in  order 
that  the  United  States  may  enter  into 
an  unembarrassed  competition  with 
these  great  nations  whose  motto  is, 
"Conquer  and  Divide." 

I  am  idealist  enough  to  believe  that 
when  this  realization  comes;  when  un 
der  the  pressure  of  circumstances  which 
must  ultimately,  and  at  no  distant  time, 
arrive,  we  see  more  clearly  the  size  and 
meaning  of  the  sacrifice  which  is  in 
volved  in  giving  up  at  least  two  of  our 
inherited  American  ideals;  then  the 
third  ideal — American  manhood — will 
make  its  power  felt  to  save  and  to  re 
store  the  other  two. 

"  Land  that  we  love  !     Thou  future  of  the  world  ! 
Thou  refuge  of  the  noble  heart  oppressed  ! 
Oh.  never  be  thy  shining  image  hurled 
From  its  high  place  in  the  adoring  breast 
[102] 


THE    HERITAGE    OF  AMERICAN   IDEALS 

Of  him  who  worships  thee  with  jealous  love  ! 
Keep  thou  thy  starry  forehead  as  the  dove 
All  white,  and  to  the  Eternal  Dawn  inclined ! 
Thou  art  not  for  thyself,  but  for  mankind, 
And  to  despair  of  thee  were  to  despair 
Of  man,  of  man's  high  destiny,  of  God." 


[103] 


THE  POWERS  THAT  BE 

SAUL  in  Israel,  Nebuchadnezzar  in 
Babylon,  Nero  in  Rome,  William  the 
Silent  in  Holland,  Philip  II.  in  Spain, 
George  III.  in  Great  Britain,  Wash 
ington  and  Lincoln  in  America — all 
the  powers  that  be,  or  have  been,  were 
ordained  of  God.  And  yet  in  every 
case  the  forces  that  have  created  them, 
and  the  causes  that  have  exalted  them, 
are  to  be  sought  in  the  character  of  the 
nations  over  which  they  have  ruled. 
God  ordains  the  power,  but  He  ordains 
it  to  fit  the  people.  A  bandit-chief  for 
a  tribe  of  brigands,  a  tyrant  for  slaves, 
an  inquisitor  for  bigots,  a  sovereign 
tax-collector  for  a  nation  of  shop-keep- 

[104] 


THE  POWERS  THAT  BE 

ers,  a  liberator  for  a  race  of  freemen. 
The  ruler  is  but  the  exponent  of  the 
inmost  thoughts,  desires,  and  ambitions 
of  the  ruled;  sometimes  their  punish 
ment,  and  sometimes  their  reward. 

Therefore  it  may  be  said  (subject  to 
those  limitations  and  exceptions  that  are 
always  understood  among  intelligent 
people  when  they  speak  in  broad  terms) 
that  as  a  general  law,  the  people  are 
responsible  for  the  character  of  their 
rulers. 

There  are  some  complications  which 
obscure  the  operation  of  this  law  in  a 
monarchy,  an  empire,  or  an  oligarchy. 
A  hereditary  crown,  a  sword  trans 
formed  into  a  sceptre,  a  transmitted 
title,  gives  an  opportunity  to  usurp  or 
extend  unrighteous  power.  And  yet 
even  here,  a  keen,  clear  eye  can  often 
discern  the  people  in  the  soveriegn.  Na 
poleon  raised  his  empire  of  conquest 

[105] 


THE  POWERS  THAT  BE 

cemented  with  blood,  on  a  prepared 
foundation  in  the  heart  of  France  filled 
with  the  lust  of  military  glory.  George 
III.  obtained  the  power  to  nominate  his 
own  ministers  to  carry  out  his  policy  of 
colonial  oppression,  from  a  national  con 
science  dulled  by  commercial  rapacity 
and  a  fat-witted  spirit  of  contemptuous 
indifference  for  the  rights  of  others. 

But  in  a  republic  the  truth  emerges 
distinct  and  vivid,  so  that  a  child  can 
read  it.  The  rulers  are  chosen  from  the 
people  by  the  people.  The  causes  which 
produce  the  men,  and  raise  them  to  of 
fice,  and  clothe  them  with  authority,  are 
in  the  heart  of  the  people.  Therefore  in 
the  long  run,  the  people  must  be  judged 
by,  and  answer  for,  the  kind  of  men 
\s^  who  rule  over  them. 

When  we  apply  this  law  to  the  begin 
ning  of  the  history  of  the  United  States 
it  gives  us  ground  for  gratitude  and 

[106] 


THE  POWERS  THAT  BE 

noble  pride  of  birth.  George  Washing 
ton  is  the  incarnation  of  the  spirit  of 
1776,  and  the  conclusive  answer  to  all 
calumniators  of  the  Revolution.  No 
wild  fanatic,  no  reckless  socialist  or  an 
archist,  but  a  sober,  sane,  God-fearing, 
liberty-loving  gentleman,  who  prized 
uprightness  as  the  highest  honour,  and 
law  as  the  bulwark  of  freedom,  and 
peace  as  the  greatest  blessing,  and  was 
willing  to  live  and  die  to  defend  them. 
He  had  his  enemies  who  accused  him  of 
being  an  aristocrat,  a  conservative,  a 
friend  of  the  very  England  he  was 
fighting,  and  who  would  have  defamed 
and  cast  him  down  if  they  could.  But 
the  men  of  the  Revolution  held  him  up, 
because  he  was  in  their  hearts,  their 
hope  and  their  ideal.  God  ordained  him 
as  a  power,  because  the  people  chose 
him  as  their  leader.  And  when  we  hon 
our  his  memory,  we  honour  theirs.  "We 

[107] 


THE  POWERS  THAT  BE 

praise  famous  men  and  our  fathers  that 
begat  us." 

But  shall  our  children  and  our  chil 
dren's  children  have  the  same  cause  to 
thank  and  esteem  us?  Shall  they  say  of 
us,  as  we  say  of  our  fathers,  "They  were 
true  patriots,  who  loved  their  country 
with  a  loyal,  steadfast  love,  and  desired 
it  to  be  ruled  by  the  best  men"? 

That  depends  on  one  thing.  Not  on  the 
chance  of  war,  the  necessity  of  revolu 
tion,  the  coming  of  a  national  crisis.  The 
obligation  of  patriotism  is  perennial 
and  its  occasion  comes  with  every  year. 
In  peace  or  war,  in  prosperity  or  in  ad 
versity,  the  true  patriot  is  he  who  main 
tains  the  highest  standard  of  honour, 
purity,  and  justice  for  his  country's  laws 
and  rulers  and  actions.  The  true  patriot 
is  he  who  is  as  willing  to  sacrifice  his 
time  and  strength  and  property  to  re 
move  political  shame  and  reform  polit- 

[108] 


THE  POWERS  THAT  BE 

ical  corruption,  as  he  would  be  ready  to 
answer  the  call  to  battle  against  a  for 
eign  foe.  The  true  patriot  is  he  who 
works  and  votes,  with  the  same  courage 
that  he  would  show  in  arms,  in  order 
that  the  aspirations  of  a  noble  people 
may  be  embodied  in  the  noblest  rulers. 
For,  after  all,  when  history  completes 
the  record  and  posterity  pronounces  the 
verdict,  it  is  by  the  moral  quality  of 
their  leaders  and  representatives  that  a 
people's  patriotism  must  be  judged. 

It  is  true  that  the  sharp  crisis  of  war 
flashes  light  upon  this  judgment.  In  the 
crisis  of  liberty,  Washington  stands 
foremost  as  the  proof  that  the  Revolu 
tion  was  for  justice,  not  for  selfishness; 
for  order,  not  for  anarchy.  In  the  crisis 
of  equality,  Lincoln  stands  foremost  as 
the  proof  that  the  war  for  the  Union 
was  not  a  war  of  conquest  over  the 
South,  but  a  war  to  deliver  the  captive 

[109] 


THE   POWERS  THAT  BE 

and  let  the  oppressed  go  free.  Those 
two  men  were  the  central  figures  in  the 
crises;  but  the  causes  which  produced 
them,  and  supported  them  in  the  focus 
of  light,  while  men  of  violence  raged, 
and  partisans  imagined  a  vain  thing, 
were  hidden  in  the  people's  life  and 
working  in  secret  through  years  of 
peace  and  preparation. 

And  when  the  third  crisis  comes — the 
crisis  of  fraternity,  in  which  it  shall  be 
determined  whether  a  vast  people  of  all 
sorts  and  conditions  of  men  can  live  to 
gether  in  liberty  and  brotherhood,  with 
out  standing  armies  or  bloody  revolts, 
without  unjust  laws  which  discriminate 
between  the  rich  and  the  poor,  and  crush 
the  vital  force  of  individuality,  and  di 
vide  classes — in  liberty  and  fraternity, 
with  the  least  possible  restraint  and  the 
greatest  possible  security  of  life  and 
property  and  freedom  of  action — when 
[no] 


THE  POWERS  THAT  BE 

the  imminent  crisis  comes  in  which  this 
hope  of  our  forefathers  must  be  de 
stroyed  or  fulfilled,  the  leaders  who 
shall  wreck  or  rescue  it,  and  the  ulti 
mate  results  of  that  mighty  conflict, 
will  simply  represent  the  moral  charac 
ter  and  ideals  of  the  American  people. 

Now  the  causes  which  control  the  de 
velopment  of  national  character  are 
threefold:  domestic,  political,  and  re 
ligious:  the  home,  the  state,  and  the 
church. 

The  home  comes  first  because  it  is  the 
seed-plot  and  nursery  of  virtue.  A  noble 
nation  of  ignoble  households  is  impossi 
ble.  Our  greatest  peril  to-day  is  in  the 
decline  of  domestic  morality,  discipline, 
and  piety.  The  degradation  of  the  poor 
by  overcrowding  in  great  tenements, 
and  the  enervation  of  the  rich  by  seclu 
sion  in  luxurious  palaces,  threaten  the 
purity  and  vigour  of  old-fashioned 
[in] 


THE  POWERS  THAT  BE 

American  family  life.  If  it  vanishes, 
nothing  can  take  its  place.  Show  me  a 
home  where  the  tone  of  life  is  selfish, 
disorderly,  or  trivial,  jaundiced  by  ava 
rice,  frivolized  by  fashion,  or  poisoned 
by  moral  scepticism;  where  success  is 
worshiped  and  righteousness  ignored; 
where  there  are  two  consciences,  one  for 
private  and  one  for  public  use;  where 
the  boys  are  permitted  to  believe  that 
religion  has  nothing  to  do  with  citizen 
ship  and  that  their  object  must  be  to 
get  as  much  as  possible  from  the  State 
and  to  do  as  little  as  possible  for  it; 
where  the  girls  are  suffered  to  think 
that  because  they  have  no  votes  they 
have  therefore  no  duties  to  the  common 
wealth,  and  that  the  crowning  glory  of 
an  American  woman's  life  is  to  marry 
a  foreigner  with  a  title — show  me  such 
a  home,  and  I  will  show  you  a  breeding- 
place  of  enemies  of  the  Republic, 
[lit] 


THE  POWERS  THAT  BE 

To  the  hands  of  women  the  ordinance 
of  nature  has  committed  the  trust  of 
training  men  for  their  country's  service. 
A  great  general  like  Napoleon  may  be 
produced  in  a  military  school.  A  great 
diplomatist  like  Metternich  may  be  de 
veloped  in  a  court.  A  great  philosopher 
like  Hegel  may  be  evolved  in  a  univer 
sity.  But  a  great  man  like  Washington 
can  come  only  from  a  pure  and  noble 
home.  The  greatness,  indeed,  parental 
love  cannot  bestow;  but  the  manliness 
is  often  a  mother's  gift.  Teach  your 
sons  to  respect  themselves  without  as 
serting  themselves.  Teach  them  to  think 
sound  and  wholesome  thoughts,  free 
from  prejudice  and  passion.  Teach 
them  to  speak  the  truth,  even  about 
their  own  party,  and  to  pay  their  debts 
in  the  same  money  in  which  they  were 
contracted,  and  to  prefer  poverty  to 
dishonour.  Teach  them  to  worship  God 

[113] 


THE  POWERS  THAT  BE 

by  doing  some  useful  work,  to  live  hon 
estly  and  cheerfully  in  such  a  station  as 
they  are  fit  to  fill,  and  to  love  their  coun 
try  with  an  unselfish  and  uplifting  love. 
Then  they  may  not  all  be  Washingtons, 
but  they  will  be  such  men  as  will  choose 
a  Washington  to  be  their  ruler  and 
leader  in 

"  The  path  of  duty  and  the  way  to  glory." 

/ 

And  in  the  conflict  between  corporate 
capital  and  organized  labour,  if  come  it 
must,  they  will  stand  fast  as  the  sol 
diers,  not  of  labour  nor  of  capital,  but 
of  that  which  is  infinitely  above  them 
both — the  commonwealth  of  law  and 
order  and  freedom. 

-^^But  the  character  of  the  people  is  not 
only  moulded  by  the  tone  of  domestic 
and  social  life,  it  is  also  expressed  and 
influenced  by  the  tone  of  political  life, 
by  the  ideals  and  standards  which  pre- 

[114] 


THE  POWERS  THAT  BE 

vail  in  the  conduct  of  public  affairs. 
And  here,  it  must  be  confessed,  our 
country  discloses  grave  causes  for  anxi 
ety.  Our  political  standards  have  un 
doubtedly  shifted  from  that  foundation 
on  which  Washington  placed  them  in 
his  first  inaugural,  "the  principles  of 
private  morality."  Take,  for  example, 
the  appearance  of  governors  of  sover 
eign  States  who  excuse  and  defend  the 
destruction  of  life  and  property  which 
would  be  called  murder  and  arson  if  it 
were  the  work  of  individuals,  because 
it  is  committed  by  great  labour-unions 
which  control  public  sentiment  and 
votes.  Take  for  the  great  example  the 
system  of  distributing  public  office  as 
party  spoils. 

Without  doubt,  the  Spoils  System  is  an 
organized  treason  against  the  Republic 
and  a  transgression  against  the  moral 
law.  It  is  a  gross  and  sordid  iniquity.  Its 

[115] 


THE  POWERS  THAT  BE 

emblem  should  not  be  the  eagle,  but  the 
pelican,  because  it  has  the  largest  pouch. 
It  shamelessly  defies  three  of  the  Ten 
Commandments.  It  lies,  when  it  calls  a 
public  office  a  spoil.  It  covets,  when  it 
desires  to  control  that  office  for  the 
benefit  of  party.  It  steals,  when  it  con 
verts  that  office  from  the  service  of  the 
commonwealth  into  a  gift  to  "reward" 
a  partisan,  or  a  sacrifice  to  "placate"  a 
faction. 

It  is  an  idle  amusement  for  clever  cyn 
ics  in  the  newspapers,  and  amiable  citi 
zens  in  their  clubs,  to  vituperate  the 
Ring  and  the  Boss,  while  they  approve, 
sanction,  or  even  tolerate  the  vicious 
principle,  "To  the  victors  belong  the 
spoils."  This  principle  is  the  root  of  the 
evils  which  afflict  us.  There  can  be  no 
real  cure  except  one  which  is  radical. 
Police  investigations  and  periodical  at 
tempts  to  "drive  the  rascals  out"  do  not 

[116] 


THE  POWERS  THAT  BE 

go  deep  enough.  We  must  see  and  say 
and  feel  that  the  whole  spoils  system 
from  top  to  bottom  is  a  flagrant  immo 
rality  and  a  fertile  mother  of  vices.  The 
Ring  does  not  form  itself  out  of  the 
air;  it  is  bred  in  the  system.  A  Boss  is 
simply  a  boil,  an  evidence  of  bad  blood 
in  the  body  politic.  Let  the  bad  blood 
out  and  he  will  subside. 

Who  are  responsible  for  the  civic  cor 
ruption  of  some  of  the  American  States 
and  cities  ?  The  corporations  from  whom 
the  Boss  gets  his  wealth  in  payment  for 
his  protection ;  the  office-seekers,  high  or 
low,  who  go  to  the  Boss  for  a  place  for 
themselves  or  for  others;  and  the  citi 
zens  who,  by  voting  or  not  voting,  have 
year  after  year  filled  our  legislative 
chambers  with  men  who  were  willing  to 
do  the  bidding  of  the  Boss  for  a  con 
sideration.  If  there  is  to  be  a  radical  and 
permanent  cleansing,  it  can  only  be  by 

[117] 


THE  POWERS  THAT  BE 

breaking  up  and  eradicating  the  whole 
system  of  irresponsible  and  haphazard 
appointment  to  office,  and  by  substitut 
ing  for  it  the  system  of  appointment 
for  merit  and  fitness,  under  wise  and 
just  rules,  which  throw  the  civil  service 
of  nation,  State,  and  city  open,  on  equal 
terms,  to  every  citizen  who  can  prove 
that  he  is  qualified  to  serve. 
'XThink  for  a  moment  of  what  we  have 
gained  and  what  we  have  still  to  gain 
in  this  direction.  There  are  290,000 
places  in  the  Civil  Service  of  the  United 
States.  Of  these  places,  154,000  have 
been  classified  under  the  rules.  Since 
1900,  59,000  have  been  added  to  the 
classified  list.  There  are  still  136,000 
places  which  are  outside  of  the  classified 
service.  It  should  be  the  desire  and  ob 
ject  of  every  patriotic  American  to  re 
move  these  places  as  rapidly  and  as  com 
pletely  as  possible  from  all  chance  of 
fllSl 


THE  POWERS  THAT  BE 

occupation  or  use  by  the  spoils  system. 
Burn  the  nests,  and  the  rats  will  evacu 
ate.  Clean  the  sewers,  and  the  malaria 
will  abate. 

But  wrhat  have  religion  and  the  church 
to  do  with  all  these  things?  Just  this:  a 
free  church  in  a  free  state  should  exer 
cise  a  direct  influence  upon  the  moral 
tone  of  domestic  and  political  life.  If 
not,  it  is  an  impotent  and  useless  parody 
on  Christianity.  The  church  is  set  as  a 
light  in  the  world.  Do  not  let  that  light 
be  put  into  a  dark  lantern  and  turned 
backward  upon  the  Scribes  and  Phari 
sees.  Set  it  on  a  candlestick  that  it  may 
give  light  unto  all  that  are  in  the  house. 
Let  the  church  shed  the  light  of  warn 
ing  and  reproof  upon  the  immoral  citi 
zen  who  enjoys  the  benefits  of  citizen 
ship  and  evades  its  responsibilities;  the 
dishonest  merchant  who  uses  part  of  his 
gains  to  purchase  political  protection 

f  1191 


THE  POWERS  THAT  BE 

and  his  good  reputation  to  cover  the 
transaction;  the  recreant  preacher  who 
denounces  the  corruptions  of  govern 
ment  "down  in  Judee"  and  ignores  the 
same  corruptions  in  the  United  States; 
the  lawyers  who  study  the  laws  in  order 
to  defend  their  clients  in  evading  them ; 
and  the  officials  who  profess  to  serve 
the  state,  and  then  add,  "The  state— 
that's  me."  But  it  is  not  only  to  expose 
and  condemn  the  evil  that  the  light  of 
religion  is  needed.  It  should  also  shine 
to  reveal  and  glorify  the  good.  Let  it 
fall  upon  the  true  heroes  of  the  repub 
lic,  the  brave  soldiers,  the  loyal  citizens, 
the  pure  statesmen,  that  all  men  may 
know  that  the  church  recognizes  these 
men  as  servants  of  the  most  high  God 
because  they  are  in  deed  and  in  truth 
the  servants  of  the  people. 

It  is  to  be  remembered  that  the  Amer 
ican  church  bore  a  noble  part  in  the  be- 

[120] 


THE  POWERS  THAT  BE 

ginning  of  our  national  life,  inspiring, 
purifying,  and  blessing  the  struggle 
for  justice  and  liberty.  It  is  not  to  be 
forgotten  that  she  has  a  duty,  no  less 
sacred,  in  the  conflicts  of  these  latter 
days;  to  encourage  men  in  the  main 
tenance  of  that  liberty  which  has  been 
achieved  and  in  the  reform  of  all  evils 
which  threaten  the  purity  of  private 
and  public  life;  to  proclaim  that  our 
prosperity  does  not  depend  upon  the 
false  maxims  of  what  are  called  "prac 
tical  politics,"  but,  as  Washington  said, 
upon  "religion  and  morality,  those 
great  pillars  of  human  happiness,  those 
firmest  props  of  the  duties  of  men,  and 
citizens." 

With  politics,  so  far  as  they  have  to 
do  with  the  strife  of  parties  and  the 
rivalry  of  candidates,  the  church  has 
no  concern.  But  with  "polit- ethics" - 
the  moral  aspect  of  the  life  of  the  state 

[121] 


THE  POWERS  THAT  BE 

— she  must  deal  frankly  and  fearlessly. 
When  she  evades  or  neglects  this  office 
of  public  prophecy,  when  she  gives  her 
strength  to  theological  subtlety  and  ec 
clesiastical  rivalry  and  clerical  milli 
nery,  and  stands  silent  in  the  presence 
of  corruption  and  indifferent  to  the 
progress  of  reform,  her  own  bells  will 
toll  the  death-knell  of  her  influence,  her 
sermons  will  be  the  funeral  discourses 
of  her  power,  and  her  music  will  be  a 
processional  to  the  grave  of  her  lost 
honour.  But  when  she  proclaims  to  all 
people,  without  fear  or  favour,  the  ne 
cessity  of  a  thorough-going  conscience 
and  a  divine  law  of  righteousness  in 
every  sphere  of  human  life,  the  rever 
ence  of  men  will  crown  her  walls  with 
praise. 


[122] 


VI 
THE  FLOOD  OF  BOOKS 


world  is  cumbered  with  books," 
complained  the  wise  man,  two  thousand 
years  ago.  "There  are  books  here  in  Je 
rusalem  and  in  Thebes  and  in  Baby 
lon  and  in  Nineveh;  even  in  Tyre  and 
Sidon  among  the  Philistines,  no  doubt 
one  would  find  books.  Still  men  go  on 
scribbling  down  their  thoughts  and  ob 
servations,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  there 
is  nothing  new  under  the  sun.  Where 
are  the  readers  to  come  from,  I  won 
der?  For  much  study  is  a  weariness  of 
the  flesh,  and  of  making  many  books 
there  is  no  end." 

But  what  would  the  writer  that  was 
king  say  if  he  were  alive  to-day,  when 

[123] 


THE   FLOOD   OF  BOOKS 

the  annual  output  of  books  in  this  coun 
try  alone  is  about  five  thousand,  and 
when  the  printing-press  multiplies  these 
volumes  into  more  than  five  million 
copies  ?  Doubtless  he  would  be  much  as 
tonished,  and  perhaps  even  more  dis 
pleased.  But  I  conjecture  that  he  would 
go  on  writing  his  own  books,  and  that 
when  they  were  done  he  would  look  for 
a  publisher.  For  each  age  has  its  own 
thoughts  and  feelings;  and  each  man 
who  is  born  with  the  impulse  of  author 
ship  thinks  that  he  has  something  to  say 
to  his  age;  and  even  if  it  is  nothing 
more  than  a  criticism  of  other  men  for 
writing  so  much  and  so  poorly,  he 
wants  to  say  it  in  his  own  language. 

Thomas  Carlyle,  talking  volubly  on 
the  virtues  of  silence,  represents  a  role 
which  is  never  left  out  in  the  drama  of 
literature. 

After  all,  is  it  not  better  that  a  hun- 


THE  FLOOD  OF  BOOKS 

dred  unnecessary  books  should  be  pub 
lished  than  that  one  good  and  useful 
book  should  be  lost?  Nature's  law  of 
parsimony  is  arrived  at  by  a  process  of 
expense.  The  needless  volumes,  like  the 
infertile  seeds,  soon  sink  out  of  sight; 
and  the  books  that  have  life  in  them 
are  taken  care  of  by  the  readers  who 
are  waiting  somewhere  to  receive  and 
cherish  them. 

Reading  is  a  habit.  Writing  is  a  gift. 
Both  may  be  cultivated.  But  I  suppose 
there  is  this  difference  between  them: 
the  habit  may  be  acquired  by  any  who 
will;  the  gift  can  be  developed  only  by 
those  who  have  it  in  them  to  begin  with. 
How  to  discover  it  and  make  the  best 
of  it,  and  use  the  writing  gift  so  that 
it  shall  supply  the  real  needs  and  pro 
mote  the  finest  results  of  the  reading 
habit, — that  is  the  problem. 

I  do  not  know  of  any  ready-made  so- 

[125] 


THE  FLOOD  OF  BOOKS 

lution.  The  only  way  to  work  it  out  is 
for  the  writers  to  try  to  write  as  well 
as  they  can,  and  for  the  publishers  to 
publish  the  best  that  they  can  get,  and 
for  the  great  company  of  readers  to 
bring  a  healthy  appetite,  a  clean  taste, 
and  a  good  digestion  to  the  feast  that 
is  prepared  for  them.  If  anyone  par 
takes  not  wisely  but  too  much,  that  is 
his  own  fault. 

No  doubt  a  good  many  people  are 
drawn  to  writing  by  slight  and  foolish 
motives,  and  they  do  their  work  fool 
ishly  and  slightly.  Every  human  occu 
pation  has  a  certain  proportion  of  silly 
and  superficial  workers,  to  whom  the 
work  seems  less  important  than  the  pay. 
But  in  the  guild  of  letters  there  are  also 
men  and  women  of  the  better  sort,  to 
whom  each  year  brings  sincere  delight 
in  their  work  for  its  own  sake. 

Scholars  have  been  sifting  and  arrang- 

[126] 


THE  FLOOD  OF  BOOKS 

ing  the  results  of  their  studies  in  great 
libraries.  Observers  of  men  and  man 
ners  have  been  travelling  and  taking 
notes  in  strange  lands  and  in  the  for 
eign  parts  of  their  own  country.  Teach 
ers  of  life  and  morals  have  been  trying 
to  give  their  lessons  a  convincing  and 
commanding  form.  Critics  have  been 
seeking  to  express  the  secrets  of  good 
work  in  arts  and  letters.  Students  of 
nature  have  been  bringing  together  the 
records  of  their  companionship  with 
birds  and  beasts  and  flowers.  Story 
tellers  have  been  following  their  dream- 
people  through  all  kinds  of  adventures 
to  joyful  or  sorrowful  ends.  And 
poets,  a  few,  have  been  weaving  their 
most  delicate  fancies  and  their  deepest 
thoughts  into  verse. 

In  what  different  places,  and  under 
what  various  conditions  these  men  and 
women  have  been  working!  Some  of 

[127] 


THE  FLOOD  OF  BOOKS 

them  in  great  cities,  in  rooms  filled 
with  books;  others  in  quiet  country 
places,  in  little  "dens"  of  bare  and 
simple  aspect;  some  among  the  tran 
quillizing  influences  of  the  mountains; 
others  where  they  could  feel  the  inspira 
tion  of  an  outlook  over  the  tossingi  lim 
itless  plains  of  the  ocean;  a  few,  per 
haps,  in  tents  among  the  trees,  or  in 
boats  on  the  sea, — though,  for  my  part, 
I  find  it  difficult  to  understand  how 
anyone  can  actually  write  out-of-doors. 
The  attractions  of  nature  are  so  close 
and  so  compelling  that  it  is  impossible 
to  resist  them.  Out-of-doors  for  seeing 
and  hearing,  thinking  and  feeling!  In 
doors  for  writing ! 

It  is  pleasant  to  reflect  upon  the  great 
amelioration  which  has  been  made  in 
the  "worldly  lot"  of  writers,  by  the  in 
crease  and  wider  distribution  of  the  pe 
cuniary  rewards  of  authorship.  It  is  not 

[128] 


THE  FLOOD  OF  BOOKS 

necessary  to  go  back  to  the  age  of  Grub 
Street  for  comparison.  There  has  been 
a  change  even  since  the  days  when  Low 
ell  wrote,  "I  cannot  come  [to  New 
York]  without  any  money,  and  leave 
my  wife  with  62^  cents,  such  being 
the  budget  brought  in  by  my  secre 
tary  of  the  treasury  this  week";  and 
when  Hawthorne's  friends  had  to  make 
up  a  purse  and  send  it  to  him  anony 
mously,  to  relieve  the  penury  caused 
by  the  loss  of  his  position  in  the  Cus- 
tom-House  at  Salem.  Nowadays,  peo 
ple  who  certainly  do  not  write  better 
than  Lowell  and  Hawthorne,  find  life 
very  much  easier.  They  travel  freely; 
they  live  in  a  comfortable  house — some 
of  them  have  two — with  plenty  of  books 
and  pictures.  The  man  who  would  be 
grudge  this  improvement  in  the  condi 
tion  of  literary  workers  must  have,  as 
Dr.  Johnson  would  say,  "a  disposition 

[129] 


THE  FLOOD  OF  BOOKS 

little  to  be  envied."  It  is  no  more  than 
the  world  has  done  for  the  doctors  and 
the  lawyers.  Have  not  the  profits  of 
book-making,  on  the  material  and  com 
mercial  side,  advanced  even  more  rap 
idly?  The  wages  of  printers  and  paper- 
makers  and  bookbinders  are  larger. 
The  fortunes  of  successful  publishers 
are  increased.  Why  should  not  the 
author  have  a  share  in  the  general 
prosperity? 

Besides,  it  should  be  remembered  that 
while  there  has  been  a  certain  enlarge 
ment  in  the  pay  of  literary  workers,  it 
has  not  yet  resulted  in  opulence  among 
men  of  letters  as  a  class.  The  principal 
gain  has  been  along  the  line  of  enlarged 
opportunities  and  better  remuneration 
for  magazine,  newspaper,  and  editorial 
work.  Setting  these  aside,  the  number 
of  people  who  make  a  good  living  by 
writing  books  is  still  very  small.  I  will 


THE  FLOOD  OF  BOOKS 

not  even  attempt  to  guess  how  many 
there  are;  it  might  precipitate  a  long 
correspondence.  But  it  is  safe  to  say 
that  there  are  not  fivescore  in  America. 
What  a  slight  burden  is  the  support  of 
a  hundred  authors  among  80,000,000 
people!  Your  share  in  the  burden  is  a 
little  more  than  one-millionth  part  of 
an  author.  What  is  that  compared  with 
the  pleasure  that  you  get  out  of  new 
books,  even  though  you  are  one  of  those 
severe  people  who  profess  to  read  none 
but  old  ones? 

When  I  hear  that  the  brilliant  writer 
of  "The  Mountain  of  Derision"  has 
just  built  a  mansion  at  Laxedo,  or  that 
the  author  of  "The  Turning  Point"  is 
driving  a  four-in-hand  through  the 
White  Mountains,  it  does  not  cause  me 
a  single  pang  of  discontent.  My  con 
tribution  to  that  mansion,  according  to 
the  present  rate  of  royalty,  was  about 


THE  FLOOD  OF  BOOKS 

forty  cents,  and  to  the  support  of  the 
equipage  I  have  given  perhaps  thirty 
cents.  In  each  case  I  received  good 
value  for  my  money, — pleasant  and,  I 
trust,  not  unprofitable  hours.  This  ex 
pense  irks  me  far  less  than  the  extra 
two  dollars  a  ton  that  I  shall  probably 
have  to  pay  for  coal  this  winter. 

But  I  would  not  be  understood  as 
agreeing  to  the  general  proposition  that 
the  possession  of  four-in-hands  and  the 
like  is  necessary,  or  even  favourable,  to 
the  production  of  good  literature.  Of 
course,  if  a  man  has  extraordinary  luck, 
he  may  find  some  competent  person  to 
take  care  of  his  luxuries  for  him,  while 
he  gives  himself  to  the  enjoyment  of 
his  work,  and  lives  almost  as  comforta 
bly  as  if  he  had  never  become  rich. 
But,  as  a  rule,  it  may  be  taken  for 
granted  that  plain  living  is  congenial 
to  high  thinking.  A  writer  in  one  of  the 

[132] 


THE  FLOOD  OF  BOOKS 

English  periodicals  a  couple  of  years 
ago  put  forth  the  theory  that  the  in 
crease  of  pessimism  among  authors  was 
due  to  the  eating  of  too  much  and  too 
rich  food.  Among  other  illustrations  he 
said  that  Ibsen  was  inordinately  given 
to  the  pleasures  of  the  table.  However 
that  may  be,  it  is  certain  that  the  liter 
ary  life,  at  its  best,  is  one  that  demands 
a  clear  and  steady  mind,  a  free  spirit, 
and  great  concentration  of  effort.  The 
cares  of  a  splendid  establishment  and 
the  distractions  of  a  complicated  social 
life  are  not  likely,  in  the  majority  of 
cases,  to  make  it  easier  to  do  the  best 
work.  Most  of  the  great  books,  I  sup 
pose,  have  been  written  in  rather  small 
rooms. 

The  spirit  of  happiness  also  seems  to 
have  a  partiality  for  quiet  and  simple 
lodgings.  "We  have  a  little  room  in  the 
third  story  (back),"  wrote  Lowell  in 

[133] 


THE   FLOOD   OF  BOOKS 

1845,  just  after  his  marriage,  "with 
white  curtains  trimmed  with  evergreen, 
and  are  as  happy  as  two  mortals  can 
be." 

There  is  the  highest  authority  for  be 
lieving  that  a  man's  life,  even  though 
he  be  an  author,  consists  not  in  the 
abundance  of  things  that  he  possesses. 
Rather  is  its  real  value  to  be  sought  in 
the  quality  of  the  ideas  and  feelings 
that  possess  him,  and  in  the  effort  to 
embody  them  in  his  work. 

The  work  is  the  great  thing.  The 
delight  of  clear  and  steady  thought, 
of  free  and  vivid  imagination,  of  pure 
and  strong  emotion;  the  fascination  of 
searching  for  the  right  words,  which 
sometimes  come  in  shoals  like  herring, 
so  that  the  net  can  hardly  contain  them, 
and  at  other  times  are  more  shy  and 
fugacious  than  the  wary  trout  which 
refuse  to  be  lured  from  their  hiding- 

[134] 


THE  FLOOD   OF  BOOKS 

places;  the  pleasure  of  putting  the  fit 
phrase  in  the  proper  place,  of  making 
a  conception  stand  out  plain  and  firm 
with  no  more  and  no  less  than  is  needed 
for  its  expression,  of  doing  justice  to 
an  imaginary  character  so  that  it  shall 
have  its  own  life  and  significance  in  the 
world  of  fiction,  of  working  a  plot  or 
an  argument  clean  through  to  its  in 
evitable  close:  these  inward  and  un- 
purchasable  joys  are  the  best  wages  of 
the  men  and  women  who  write. 

What  more  will  they  get?  Well,  un 
less  history  forgets  to  repeat  itself, 
their  additional  wages,  their  personal 
dividends  under  the  profit-sharing  sys 
tem,  so  to  speak,  will  be  various.  Some 
will  probably  get  more  than  they  de 
serve,  others  less. 

The  next  best  thing  to  the  joy  of  work 
is  the  winning  of  gentle  readers  and 
friends  who  find  some  good  in  your 

[135] 


THE  FLOOD  OF  BOOKS 

book,  and  are  grateful  for  it,  and  think 
kindly  of  you  for  writing  it. 

The  next  best  thing  to  that  is  the 
recognition,  on  the  part  of  people  who 
know,  that  your  work  is  well  done,  and 
of  fine  quality.  That  is  called  fame,  or 
glory,  and  the  writer  who  professes  to 
care  nothing  for  it  is  probably  deceiv 
ing  himself,  or  else  his  liver  is  out  of 
order.  Real  reputation,  even  of  a  mod 
est  kind  and  of  a  brief  duration,  is  a 
good  thing;  an  author  ought  to  be  able 
to  be  happy  without  it,  but  happier 
with  it. 

The  next  best  thing  to  that  is  a  good 
return  in  money  from  the  sale  of  a 
book.  There  is  nothing  dishonourable 
in  writing  for  money.  Samuel  John 
son,  in  the  days  of  his  poverty,  wrote 
Easselas  to  pay  the  expenses  of  his 
mother's  funeral. 

But  to  take,  by  choice,  a  commercial 

[136] 


THE  FLOOD  OF  BOOKS 

view  of  authorship,  to  write  always 
with  an  eye  on  the  market,  to  turn  out 
copious  and  indifferent  stuff  because 
there  is  a  ready  sale  for  it,  to  be  guided 
in  production  by  the  fashion  of  the  day 
rather  than  by  the  impulse  of  the  mind, 
— that  is  the  sure  way  to  lose  the  power 
of  doing  good  work. 

The  best  writing  is  done  for  its  own 
sake.  In  the  choice  of  a  subject,  in  the 
manner  of  working  it  out,  in  the  details 
of  form  and  illustration,  style,  and  dic 
tion,  an  author  cannot  be  too  jealous 
in  guarding  his  own  preference,  ideal, 
inspiration, — call  it  what  you  will. 
Otherwise  his  book  will  lack  the  touch 
of  personality,  of  independence,  of 
distinction.  It  is  here,  perhaps,  that 
a  large  part  of  the  modern  output  of 
books  fails  to  come  up  to  the  best 
standard. 

But  when  a  piece  of  work  has  been 

[137] 


THE  FLOOD  OF  BOOKS 

done,  freely,  sincerely,  thoroughly, — 
done  as  well  as  the  writer  can  do  it, — 
then  it  is  safe.  The  new  methods  of  pa 
per-making  and  printing  and  binding, 
the  modern  system  of  publishing  and 
advertising,  the  admirable  skill  of  the 
artists  who  are  now  engaged  in  design 
ing  illustrations  and  book-covers  and 
types,  certainly  cannot  hurt  the  quality 
of  a  book,  and  may  do  something  to 
help  its  sale.  For  this  the  honest  au 
thor,  having  finished  his  work  as  nearly 
as  possible  to  his  own  satisfaction,  and 
disposed  of  it  for  the  best  price  obtain 
able,  should  be  duly  grateful. 

Amid  the  making  of  many  books, 
good  literature  is  still  produced,  as  it 
was  in  the  days  of  Thackeray  and 
Dickens,  Carlyle  and  Ruskin,  Tenny 
son  and  Browning,  Irving  and  Haw 
thorne  and  Lowell  and  Emerson,  out 
of  the  hearts  of  men  and  women  who 

[138] 


THE  FLOOD   OF  BOOKS 
write  because  they  love  it,  and  who  do 
their  work  in  their  own  way  because 
they  know  that,  for  them,  it  is  the  best 
way. 


[139] 


VII 

BOOKS,     LITERATURE,     AND 
THE    PEOPLE 

LET  us  begin  by  trying  to  distinguish 
between  the  people  and  the  public. 

The  public  is  that  small  portion  of  the 
people  which  is  in  the  foreground  at 
the  moment.  It  is  the  mirror  of  pass 
ing  fashions,  the  court  of  temporary 
judgments,  the  gramophone  of  new 
tunes. 

The  people  is  a  broader,  deeper  word. 
It  means  that  great  and  comparatively 
silent  mass  of  men  and  women  on  which 
the  public  floats,  as  the  foam  floats  on 
the  wave.  It  means  that  community  of 
human  thought  and  feeling  which  lies 
behind  the  talk  of  the  day. 

[140] 


BOOKS,  LITERATURE,  AND  THE  PEOPLE 

There  are  many  publics,  for  they 
change  and  pass.  But  the  people  are 
one. 

In  the  realm  of  letters,  as  elsewhere, 
I  hold  to  the  principles  of  democracy. 
The  people  do  not  exist  for  the  sake  of 
literature:  to  give  the  author  fame,  the 
publisher  wealth,  and  books  a  market. 
On  the  contrary,  literature  should  exist 
for  the  sake  of  the  people:  to  refresh 
the  weary,  to  console  the  sad,  to  hearten 
up  the  dull  and  downcast,  to  increase 
man's  interest  in  the  world,  his  joy  of 
living,  and  his  sympathy  with  all  sorts 
and  conditions  of  men. 

It  is  to  be  desired,  no  doubt,  that  the 
relation  of  American  literature  to  the 
people  should  be  made  closer,  deeper, 
and  more  potent,  that  it  may  not  only 
express,  but  really  enrich  the  common 
life,  and  so  promote  the  liberty  of  the 
individual  from  the  slavery  of  the  su- 

[141] 


BOOKS,  LITERATURE,  AND  THE  PEOPLE 

perficial,  and  wisely  guide  and  forward 
the  community  in  the  pursuit  of  true 
happiness.  But  while  we  desire  a  fur 
ther  advance  in  this  direction,  it  is  well 
for  us  to  remember  that  no  advance 
is  possible  without  a  recognition  of 
the  ground  already  gained.  Pessimism 
never  gets  anywhere.  It  is  a  poor  wag 
on  that  sets  out  with  creaking  and 
groaning.  Let  us  cheerfully  acknowl 
edge  that  the  relations  of  literature  to 
the  people  are  probably  better  to-day 
than  they  have  ever  been  before  in  the 
history  of  the  world. 

Freedom  is  a  great  gain.  Open  libra 
ries  are  signs  of  progress. 

Books  are  easier  of  access  and  posses 
sion,  at  the  present  time,  than  any  other 
kind  of  food.  They  have  become  in 
credibly  cheap,  partly  through  the 
expiration  of  copyrights,  and  partly 
through  the  reduction  in  the  cost  of 

[142] 


BOOKS,  LITERATURE,  AND  THE  PEOPLE 

manufacture.  I  cannot  think  that  the 
loss  involved  for  certain  classes  in  either 
of  these  processes  is  to  be  weighed  for 
a  moment  against  the  resulting  advan 
tage  to  the  people.  The  best  books  are 
the  easiest  to  get,  and,  upon  the  whole, 
they  have  the  widest  circulation.  Nota 
bly  this  is  true  of  the  most  beautiful, 
powerful,  and  precious  of  all  books — 
the  English  Bible,  which  is  still  the  most 
popular  book  in  the  world. 

Another  good  thing  in  which  we  must 
rejoice  is  the  liberation  of  books  from 
various  kinds  of  oppression.  The  In 
dex  Librorum  Prohibitorum  still  exists, 
but  it  is  no  longer  what  it  used  to 
be.  The  only  officers  of  the  Inquisition 
in  the  modern  world  of  letters  are  the 
librarians;  and,  taken  all  in  all,  they 
exercise  their  power  with  mildness  and 
beneficence. 

The  influence  of  party  politics  on  the 

[143] 


BOOKS,  LITERATURE,  AND  THE  PEOPLE 

fate  of  books  is  almost  extinct.  The 
days  of  literary  partisanship,  when  the 
Edinburgh  Review  scalped  the  con 
servative  writers,  while  the  Quarterly 
flayed  the  liberals,  are  past. 

The  alleged  tyranny  of  modern  maga 
zine  editors  is  a  gentle  moral  suasion 
compared  with  the  despotism  of  the 
so-called  patrons  of  art  and  letters  in 
earlier  times.  Let  anyone  who  thinks 
that  there  is  too  much  literary  log-roll 
ing  in  the  present  day  turn  back  to  the 
fawning  dedications  of  the  Renaissance 
and  the  age  of  Queen  Anne,  and  he 
will  understand  how  far  authorship  has 
risen  out  of  base  subserviency  into  in 
dependence  and  self-respect. 

Certainly  the  condition  of  the  realm 
of  letters  is  better,  its  relation  to  the 
people  is  closer,  and  its  influence  on  the 
world  is  greater  than  ever  before. 

But  this  does  not  mean  that  there  are 

[144] 


BOOKS,  LITERATURE,  AND  THE  PEOPLE 

no  evils  to  be  removed,  no  dangers  to 
be  averted,  and  no  further  steps  to  be 
taken  in  advance. 

Books  are  now  sold  in  the  dry-goods 
shops.  No  one  can  fairly  object  to  that. 
But  is  there  not  some  objection  to  deal 
ing  in  books  as  if  they  were  dry-goods? 

A  book  can  be  bought  for  a  nickel. 
There  is  no  harm  in  that.  But  is  there 
not  considerable  harm  in  advertising 
nickel-plated  writing  as  sterling  silver? 

All  that  is  necessary,  at  present,  to  sell 
an  unlimited  quantity  of  a  new  book  is 
to  sell  the  first  hundred  thousand,  and 
notify  the  public.  The  rest  will  go  by 
curiosity  and  imitation.  Is  there  no  dan 
ger  in  substituting  popularity  for  per 
fection  as  the  test  of  merit? 

Five  thousand  books  are  published 
every  year  in  England,  and  nearly  as 
many  more  in  America.  It  would  be  a 
selfish  man  who  could  find  fault  with  an 

[145] 


BOOKS,  LITERATURE,  AND  THE  PEOPLE 

industry  which  gives  employment  and 
support  to  such  a  large  number  of  his 
fellow  men.  But  has  there  not  come, 
with  this  plethora  of  production,  an 
anaemia  of  criticism?  That  once  rare 
disease,  the  cacoethes  scribendi^  seems 
to  have  become  endemic. 

The  public  must  like  it,  else  it  would 
not  be  so.  But  have  the  people  no  in 
terests  which  will  be  imperilled  if  the 
landmarks  of  literary  taste  are  lost  in 
the  sea  of  publication,  and  the  art  of 
literature  is  forgotten  in  the  business 
of  book-making? 

Everyone  knows  what  books  are.  But 
what  is  literature?  It  is  the  ark  on  the 
flood.  It  is  the  light  on  the  candlestick. 
It  is  the  flower  among  the  leaves;  the 
consummation  of  the  plant's  vitality, 
the  crown  of  its  beauty,  and  the  treas 
ure-house  of  its  seeds.  It  is  hard  to  de 
fine,  easy  to  describe. 

[146] 


I 


BOOKS,  LITERATURE,  AND  THE  PEOPLE 

Literature  is  made  up  of  those  writ 
ings  which  translate  the  inner  mean 
ings  of  nature  and  life,  in  language  of 
distinction  and  charm,  touched  with  the 
personality  of  the  author,  into  artistic 
forms  of  permanent  interest.  The  best 
literature,  then,  is  that  which  has  the 
deepest  significance,  the  most  lucid 
style,  the  most  vivid  individuality,  and 
the  most  enduring  form. 

On  the  last  point  contemporary  judg 
ment  is  but  guesswork,  but  on  the  three 
other  points  it  should  not  be  impossible 
to  form,  nor  improper  to  express,  a  defi 
nite  opinion. 

The  qualities  which  make  a  book  sala 
ble  may  easily  be  those  which  prevent 
it  from  belonging  to  literature.  A  man 
may  make  a  very  good  living  from  his 
writings  without  being  in  any  sense  a 
man  of  letters.  He  has  a  perfect  right 
to  choose  between  the  enrichment  of  the 

[147] 


BOOKS,  LITERATURE,  AND  THE  PEOPLE 

world  by  working  along  the  line  of  his 
own  highest  ideal,  and  the  increase  of 
his  bank  account  by  running  along  the 
trolley-car  track  of  the  public  fancy. 
He  has  the  right  to  choose,  but  his 
choice  places  him. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  fact  that  a  book 
does  not  sell  is  not  in  itself  a  sufficient 
proof  that  it  is  great.  Poor  books,  as 
well  as  good  ones,  have  often  been  un 
successful  at  the  start.  The  difference 
is  that  the  poor  ones  remain  unsuccess 
ful  at  the  finish.  The  writer  who  says 
that  he  would  feel  disgraced  by  a  sale 
of  fifty  thousand  copies  cheers  himself 
with  a  wine  pressed  from  acid  grapes, 
and  very  unwholesome.  There  is  no  rea 
son  why  a  book  which  appeals  only  to 
the  author  should  be  considered  better 
than  a  book  which  appeals  only  to  the 
public. 

Neither  is  there  any  reason  why  a  pub- 

[148] 


BOOKS,  LITERATURE,  AND  THE  PEOPLE 

lisher  of  popular  books  should  go  to  the 
opposite  extreme  and  say  that  "there  is 
no  use  under  heaven  for  the  critic;  the 
man  who  buys  the  book  is  the  real  critic, 
and  so  discriminating  is  he  that  a  pub 
lisher  cannot  sell  a  bad  book."  If  this 
standard  prevails,  we  shall  soon  hear 
the  proud  and  happy  publisher  saying 
of  a  book  in  its  hundredth  thousand,  as 
Gregory  the  Great  is  reported  to  have 
said  of  the  Scripture,  that  "he  would 
blush  to  have  it  subjected  to  the  rules 
of  grammar." 

The  true  cause  for  blushing  lies  in  the 
fact  that  criticism  has  been  so  much 
confused  with  advertisement;  that  so 
many  of  the  journals  which  should  be 
the  teachers  of  the  public  have  become 
its  courtiers;  that  realism  in  its  desire 
to  be  dramatic  has  so  often  turned  to 
the  theatre  instead  of  to  real  life,  and 
thus  has  become  melodramatic;  that 

[149] 


BOOKS,  LITERATURE,  AND  THE  PEOPLE 

virility  (which  is  a  good  word  in  its 
place)  has  been  so  much  overworked, 
and  used  as  a  cloak  to  cover  a  multitude 
of  sins ;  and  that  the  distinction  between 
books  and  literature  has  been  so  often 
overlooked  and  so  largely  forgotten. 

The  public  is  content  with  the  stand 
ard  of  salability.  The  prigs  are  con 
tent  with  the  standard  of  preciosity. 
The  people  need  and  deserve  a  better 
standard.  It  should  be  a  point  of  honour 
with  men  of  letters  to  maintain  it  by 
word  and  deed. 

Literature  has  its  permanent  marks. 
It  is  a  connected  growth,  and  its  life- 
history  is  unbroken.  Masterpieces  have 
never  been  produced  by  men  who  have 
had  no  masters.  Reverence  for  good 
work  is  the  foundation  of  literary  char 
acter.  The  refusal  to  praise  bad  work, 
or  to  imitate  it,  is  an  author's  personal 
chastity. 

[150] 


BOOKS,  LITERATURE   AND  THE  PEOPLE 

Good  work  is  the  most  honourable  and 
lasting  thing  in  the  world.  Four  ele 
ments  enter  into  good  work  in  litera 
ture: 

An  original  impulse — not  necessarily 
a  new  idea,  but  a  new  sense  of  the  value 
of  an  idea. 

A  first-hand  study  of  the  subject  and 
the  material. 

A  patient,  joyful,  unsparing  labour 
for  the  perfection  of  form. 

A  human  aim — to  cheer,  console,  puri 
fy,  or  ennoble  the  life  of  the  people. 
Without  this  aim  literature  has  never 
sent  an  arrow  close  to  the  mark. 

It  is  only  by  good  work  that  men  of 
letters  can  justify  their  right  to  a  place 
in  the  world.  The  father  of  Thomas 
Carlyle  was  a  stone-mason,  whose  walls 
stood  true  and  needed  no  rebuilding. 
Carlyle's  prayer  was:  "Let  me  write  my 
books  as  he  built  his  houses." 


VIII 

CHRISTIANITY    AND    CUR 
RENT    LITERATURE 

IN  literature  the  inner  life  of  man 
finds  expression  and  lasting  influence 
through  written  words.  Races  and  na 
tions  have  existed  without  it;  but  their 
life  has  been  dumb  and  with  their  death 
their  power  has  departed;  they  have 
vanished  into  thin  air.  What  do  we 
know  of  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of 
those  unlettered  tribes  of  white  and 
black  and  yellow  and  red,  flitting  in 
ghost-like  pantomime  across  the  back 
ground  of  the  world's  stage?  What 
ever  message  of  warning,  of  encourage 
ment,  of  hope,  of  guidance  they  may 
have  had  for  us  remains  undelivered. 

[152] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  LITERATURE 

They  are  but  phantoms,  mysterious  and 
ineffective.  But  with  the  art  of  litera 
ture,  life  arrives  at  utterance  and  last 
ing  power.  The  Scythian,  the  Etruscan, 
the  Phoenician  are  dead.  The  Greek,  the 
Hebrew,  the  Roman  still  live.  We  know 
them.  They  are  as  real  and  potent 
as  the  Englishman,  the  American,  the 
German.  They  touch  us  and  move  us 
through  a  vital  literature. 

Religion  is  a  life — the  life  of  the  hu 
man  spirit  in  contact  with  the  Divine. 
Therefore  it  needs  a  literature  to  ex 
press  its  meaning  and  perpetuate  its 
power. 

It  is  the  fashion  nowadays  to  speak 
scornfully  of  "a  book  religion."  But 
where  is  the  noble  religion  without  a 
book?  Men  praise  the  "bookless  Christ" ; 
and  the  adjective  serves  as  a  left-hand 
ed  criticism  of  his  followers,  who  revere 
the  Bible  as  their  rule  of  faith  and 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  LITERATURE 

practice.  True,  he  wrote  no  volume; 
but  he  absorbed  one  literature,  the  Old 
Testament;  and  he  inspired  another, 
the  New  Testament. 

How  wonderful,  how  supreme  is  the 
Bible  as  an  utterance  of  life  in  litera 
ture!  With  what  convincing  candour 
are  the  hopes  and  fears,  the  joys  and 
sorrows,  the  deep  perplexities  and  clear 
visions  of  the  heart  of  man  under  the 
divine  process  of  education  disclosed  in 
its  pages!  What  range!  What  history, 
biography,  essays,  epigrams,  letters, 
poetry,  fiction,  drama — all  are  here.  The 
thoughts  breathe  with  inspiration,  the 
figures  live  and  move.  And  most  of  all, 
the  central  figure,  Jesus  Christ,  long 
expected,  suddenly  revealed,  seen  but 
for  a  moment,  imperishably  remem 
bered,  trusted,  and  adored,  stands  out 
forever  in  the  simple  words  of  a  few 
brief  chapters,  the  clearest,  most  en- 


CHRISTIANITY  AND   LITERATURE 

during,  most  potent  personality  in  the 
world's  history. 

I  do  not  hold  with  the  saying  that  "the 
Bible  is  the  religion  of  Protestants."  If 
that  were  true,  Protestants  would  be 
in  the  position  of  mistaking  the  expres 
sion  for  the  life,  the  lamp  for  the  light, 
the  stream  for  the  fountain.  But  I  hold 
that  without  the  Bible,  Christianity 
would  lose  its  vital  touch  with  the  past, 
and  much  of  its  power  upon  the  present. 
It  would  be  like  a  plant  torn  from  its 
roots  and  floating  in  the  sea. 

Christianity  owes  an  immense  part  of 
its  influence  in  the  world  to-day  to  the 
place  of  the  Bible  in  current  literature. 
What  other  volume  is  current  in  a  sense 
so  large  and  splendid?  What  book  is  so 
widely  known,  so  often  quoted,  so  deep 
ly  reverenced,  so  closely  read  by  learned 
and  simple,  rich  and  poor,  old  and 
young?  Wherever  it  comes  it  enriches 

[155] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  LITERATURE 

and  ennobles  human  life,  opens  com 
mon  sources  of  consolation  and  cheer, 
helps  men  to  understand  and  respect 
one  another,  gives  a  loftier  tone  to  phi 
losophy,  a  deeper  meaning  to  history, 
and  a  purer  light  to  poetry.  Strange 
indeed  is  the  theory  of  education  that 
would  exclude  this  book,  which  Hux 
ley  and  Arnold  called  the  most  potent 
in  the  world  for  moral  inspiration, 
from  the  modern  school-house.  Stranger 
still  the  theory  of  religion  which  would 
make  of  this  book  a  manual  of  ecclesi 
astical  propagandism  rather  than  the 
master- volume  of  current  literature. 

"Beware  of  the  man  of  one  book," 
says  the  proverb.  The  saying  has  two 
meanings.  The  one-book  man  may  be 
strong,  and  therefore  masterful;  he 
may  also  be  narrow,  and  therefore  dan 
gerous.  The  Bible  exercises  its  mightiest 
and  most  beneficent  influence,  not  when 

[156] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  LITERATURE 

it  is  substituted  for  all  other  books,  but 
when  it  pervades  all  literature. 

Christianity  needs  not  only  a  sacred 
Scripture  for  guidance,  warning,  in 
struction,  inspiration,  but  also  a  con 
tinuous  literature  to  express  its  life 
from  age  to  age,  to  embody  the  ever- 
new  experiences  of  religion  in  forms 
of  beauty  and  power,  to  illuminate  and 
interpret  the  problems  of  existence  in 
the  light  of  faith  and  hope  and  love. 

Close  this  outlet  of  expression,  cut  off 
this  avenue  of  communication,  and  you 
bring  Christianity  into  a  state  of  stag 
nation  and  congestion.  Its  processes  of 
thought  become  hard,  formal,  mechan 
ical;  its  feelings  morbid,  spasmodic, 
hysterical;  its  temper  at  once  oversen 
sitive,  and  dictatorial.  It  grows  sus 
picious  of  science,  contemptuous  of  art, 
and  alienated  from  all  those  broader 
human  sympathies  through  which  alone 

[157] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  LITERATURE 

it  can  reach  the  outer  world.  Insulated, 
opinionated,  petrified  by  self-compla 
cency,  it  sits  in  a  closed  room,  putting 
together  the  pieces  of  its  puzzle-map 
of  doctrine,  and  talking  to  itself  in  a 
theological  dialect  instead  of  speaking 
to  the  world  in  a  universal  language. 

Books  it  may  produce — books  a-plen 
ty!  Big  fat  books  of  dogmatic  exposi 
tion;  little  thin  books  of  sentimental 
devotion;  collections  of  sermons  in  in 
numerable  volumes;  pious  puppet-show 
story-books  in  which  the  truth  or  false 
hood  of  certain  dogmas  is  illustrated  by 
neatly  labelled  figures  stuffed  with  saw 
dust  and  strung  on  wires.  And  these  an 
insulated  Christianity,  scornful  of  what 
it  calls  mere  literary  art  and  unsancti- 
fied  charm,  would  persuade  us  to  accept 
as  a  proper  religious  library.  But  John 
Foster  spoke  the  truth  in  his  essay,  "On 
Some  of  the  Causes  by  which  Evangel- 

[158] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  LITERATURE 

ical  Religion  has  been  Rendered  Un 
acceptable  to  Persons  of  Cultivated 
Taste,"  when  he  calls  these  books  "a 
vast  exhibition  of  the  most  subordinate 
materials  that  can  be  called  thought,  in 
language  too  grovelling  to  be  called 
style."  Certainly  they  are  not  literature, 
nor  is  it  either  to  be  wondered  at  or 
much  regretted  that  they  are  not  cur 
rent.  They  do  not  propagate  religion; 
they  bury  it. 

Very  different  are  the  works  by  which 
the  vital  spirit  of  Christianity  has  been 
expressed,  the  vivifying  influence  of 
Christianity  extended  in  the  world  of 
modern  thought  and  feeling.  There 
are  sermons  among  them,  like  the 
discourses  of  South  and  Barrow  and 
Liddon  and  Bushnell;  and  religious 
meditations  like  the  Confessions  of 
St.  Augustine  and  The  Imitation  of 
Christ;  and  books  of  sacred  reasoning 

I  1591 


CHRISTIANITY  AND   LITERATURE 

like  the  Provincial  Letters  of  Pascal, 
and  Butler's  Analogy  of  Natural  and 
Revealed  Religion;  and  divine  epics  and 
lyrics  like  those  of  Dante  and  Milton 
and  George  Herbert  and  Cowper  and 
Keble. 

But  there  are  also  books  which  are 
secular  in  form,  neither  claiming  nor 
recognizing  ecclesiastical  sanction,  pre 
senting  life  in  its  broad  human  inter 
est,  and  at  the  same  time  inevitably 
revealing  the  ethical,  the  spiritual,  the 
immortal  as  the  chief  factors  in  the  di 
vine  drama  of  man. 

Christian  literature  includes  the  best 
of  those  writings  in  which  men  have 
interpreted  life  and  nature  from  a 
Christian  stand-point.  The  stand-point 
does  not  need  to  be  always  defined  or 
described.  A  man  who  looks  from  a 
mountain-peak  tells  you  not  of  the 
mountain  on  which  he  stands,  but  of 

[160] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  LITERATURE 

what  he  sees  from  it.  It  is  not  necessary 
to  name  God  in  order  to  revere  and 
obey  him.  I  find  the  same  truth  to  life 
in  King  Lear  as  in  the  drama  of  Job: 
and  the  same  sublime,  patient  faith, 
though  the  one  ends  happily  and  the 
other  sadly.  The  Book  of  Ruth  is  no 
more  and  no  less  Christian,  to  my  mind, 
than  Tennyson's  Dora.  There  is  the 
same  religion  in  The  Heart  of  Mid 
lothian  as  in  The  Book  of  Esther.  The 
parable  of  the  rich  man  lives  again 
in  Romola.  In  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr. 
Hyde  St.  Paul's  text,  "The  flesh  lust- 
eth  against  the  spirit,"  is  burned  deep 
into  the  memory. 

No  great  writer  represents  the  whole 
of  Christianity  in  its  application  to 
life.  But  I  think  that  almost  every 
great  writer,  since  the  religion  of  Jesus 
touched  the  leading  races,  has  helped 
to  reveal  some  new  aspect  of  its  beau- 

[161] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  LITERATURE 

ty,  to  make  clear  some  new  secret  of  its 
sweet  reasonableness,  or  to  enforce  some 
new  lesson  of  its  power.  I  read  in 
Shakespeare  the  majesty  of  the  moral 
law,  in  Victor  Hugo  the  sacredness  of 
childhood,  in  Goethe  the  glory  of  re 
nunciation,  in  Wordsworth  the  joy  of 
humility,  in  Tennyson  the  triumph  of 
immortal  love,  in  Browning  the  courage 
of  faith,  in  Thackeray  the  ugliness  of 
hypocrisy  and  the  beauty  of  forgive 
ness,  in  George  Eliot  the  supremacy 
of  duty,  in  Dickens  the  divinity  of 
kindness,  and  in  Ruskin  the  dignity  of 
service.  Irving  teaches  me  the  lesson 
of  simple-hearted  cheerfulness,  Haw 
thorne  shows  me  the  intense  reality  of 
the  inner  life  and  the  hatef ulness  of  sin, 
Longfellow  gives  me  the  soft  music  of 
tranquil  hope  and  earnest  endeavour, 
Lowell  makes  me  feel  that  we  must 
give  ourselves  to  our  fellow  men  if  we 

[162] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  LITERATURE 

would  bless  them,  and  Whittier  sings 
to  me  of  human  brotherhood  and  di 
vine  fatherhood.  Are  not  these  Chris 
tian  lessons? 

I  do  not  ask  my  novelist  to  define  and 
discuss  his  doctrinal  position,  or  to  tell 
me  what  religious  denomination  he  be 
longs  to.  I  ask  him  to  tell  me  a  story 
of  life  as  it  is,  seen  from  the  point  of 
view  of  one  who  has  caught  from  Chris 
tianity  a  conception  of  life  as  it  ought 
to  be.  I  do  not  ask  him  even  to  deal 
out  poetic  justice  to  all  his  characters, 
and  shut  the  prison-doors  on  the  bad 
people  while  he  rings  the  wedding-bells 
for  the  good.  I  ask  him  only  to  show  me 
good  as  good  and  evil  as  evil ;  to  quicken 
my  love  for  those  who  do  their  best,  and 
deepen  my  scorn  for  those  who  do  their 
worst;  to  give  me  a  warmer  sympathy 
with  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men 
who  are  sincere  and  loyal  and  kind;  to 

[163] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND   LITERATURE 

strengthen  my  faith  that  life  is  worth 
living  even  while  he  helps  me  to  realize 
how  hard  it  is  to  live;  to  leave  me 
my  optimism,  but  not  to  leave  it  stone- 
blind;  not  to  depress  me  with  cheap 
cynicism,  nor  to  lull  me  with  spurious 
sentimentalism,  but  to  nourish  and  con 
firm  my  heart  in  Sir  Walter  Scott's 
manly  faith,  that  "to  every  duty  per 
formed  there  is  attached  an  inward  sat 
isfaction  which  deepens  with  the  diffi 
culty  of  the  task  and  is  its  best  reward." 

The  use  of  fiction  either  to  defend  or 
to  attack  some  definite  theological  dog 
ma  seems  to  me  illegitimate  and  absurd. 
I  remember  a  devout  and  earnest  broth 
er  who  begged  me  to  write  a  story  to 
prove  that  Presbyterians  never  held  the 
doctrine  of  infant  damnation.  I  would 
as  soon  write  a  story  to  prove  that 
Bacon  wrote  Shakespeare's  plays. 

But  that   fiction  may  serve   a  noble 

[  164  ] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  LITERATURE 

purpose  in  renewing  our  attraction  to 
virtue,  in  sharpening  our  abhorrence 
of  selfishness  and  falsehood,  in  adding 
to  the  good  report  of  the  things  that 
are  pure  and  lovely,  in  showing  that 
heroism  is  something  better  than  "ec 
centricity  tinged  with  vice,"  and,  at  its 
deepest,  in  making  us  feel  anew  our 
own  need  of  a  divine  forgiveness  for 
our  faults,  and  a  divine  Master  to  con 
trol  our  lives — that  is  true,  beyond  a 
doubt;  for  precisely  that  is  what  our 
best  fiction  from  Waverley  down  to 
The  Bonnie  Brier  Bush  and  Senti 
mental  Tommy  has  been  doing.  Name 
half  a  dozen  of  the  great  English 
novels  at  random  —  Henry  Esmond, 
David  Copper  field,  The  Cloister  and 
the  Hearth,  Lorna  Doone,  Romola, 
The  Scarlet  Letter — and  who  shall  dare 
to  deny  that  there  is  in  these  books  an 
atmosphere  which  breathes  of  the  vital 

I  1651 


CHRISTIANITY  AND   LITERATURE 

truths  and  the  brightest  ideals  of  Chris 
tianity? 

It  must  be  admitted  that  there  are 
many  books,  current  at  present,  of 
which  this  cannot  be  said.  Some  of 
them  breathe  of  patchouli  and  musk, 
some  of  stale  beer  and  cigarettes,  some 
of  the  gutter  and  the  pest-house,  many 
do  not  breathe  at  all.  But  I  do  not  see 
in  this  any  great  or  pressing  danger. 
The  chemists  tell  us  that  the  paper  on 
which  these  books  are  printed  will  not 
last  twenty  years.  It  will  not  need  to 
last  so  long,  for  the  vast  majority  of 
the  books  will  be  forgotten  before  their 
leaves  disintegrate.  Superficial,  feeble, 
fatuous,  inane,  they  pass  into  oblivion; 
and  the  literature  which  abides  is  that 
which  recognizes  the  moral  conflict  as 
the  supreme  interest  of  life,  and  the 
message  of  Christianity  as  the  only  real 
promise  of  victory. 

[166] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  LITERATURE 

There  are  three  mischievous  and  peril 
ous  tendencies  in  our  modern  world 
against  which  the  spirit  of  Christianity, 
embodied  in  a  sane  and  manly  and  lova 
ble  literature,  can  do  much  to  guard  us. 

The  first  is  the  growing  idolatry  of 
military  glory  and  conquest.  It  is  one 
thing  to  admit  that  there  are  certain 
causes  for  which  a  Christian  may  law 
fully  take  the  sword,  it  is  another  thing 
to  claim,  as  some  do,  that  war  in  itself 
is  better  for  a  nation  than  peace,  and  to 
look  chiefly  to  mighty  armaments  on 
land  and  sea  as  the  great  instruments 
for  the  spread  of  civilization  and  Chris 
tianity.  The  forerunner  of  Christ  was 
not  Samson,  but  John  the  Baptist.  The 
kingdom  of  heaven  cometh  not  with 
observation,  nor  with  acquisition,  nor 
with  subjugation.  If  all  the  territory 
of  the  globe  were  subject  to  one  con 
quering  emperor  to-day,  no  matter 

[167] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  LITERATURE 

though  the  cross  were  blazoned  on  his 
banner  and  his  throne,  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  would  not  be  one  whit  nearer. 
"Not  by  might,  nor  by  power,  but  by 
my  spirit,  saith  the  Lord."  That  is  the 
message  of  Christianity.  A  literature 
that  is  Christian  must  exalt  love,  not 
only  as  the  greatest,  but  as  the  strong 
est  thing  in  the  world.  It  must  hold  fast 
the  truth  bravely  spoken  by  one  of 
America's  foremost  soldiers,  General 
Sherman,  that  "war  is  hell."  It  must 
check  and  reprove  the  lust  of  conquest 
and  the  confidence  of  brute  force.  It 
must  firmly  vindicate  and  commend 
righteousness  and  fair-dealing  and 
kindness,  and  the  simple  proclamation 
of  the  truth,  as  the  means  by  which 
alone  a  better  age  can  be  brought  nigh 
and  all  the  tribes  of  earth  taught  to 
dwell  together  in  peace.  It  must  repeat 
Wordsworth's  fine  message: 

[168] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  LITERATURE 

"  By  the  soul 
Only  the  nations  shall  be  great  and  free." 

The  second  perilous  tendency  is  the 
growing  idolatry  of  wealth.  Money  is 
condensed  power.  But  it  is  condensed 
in  a  form  which  renders  it  frightfully 
apt  to  canker  and  corrupt.  A  noble  lit 
erature,  truly  in  harmony  with  the  spirit 
of  Christ,  will  expose,  with  splendid 
scorn  and  ridicule,  the  falsehood  of  the 
standard  by  which  the  world,  and  too 
often  the  church,  measure  what  a  man 
is  worth  by  his  wealth.  It  will  praise  and 
glorify  simple  manhood  and  woman 
hood.  It  will  teach  that  true  success  is 
the  triumph  of  character,  and  that  true 
riches  are  of  the  heart. 

The  third  perilous  tendency  is  the 
growing  spirit  of  frivolity.  A  brilliant 
British  essayist  in  writing  a  life  of 
Robert  Browning  lately  took  occasion 
to  remark  that  the  nineteenth  century 

[169] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  LITERATURE 

had  already  become  incomprehensible  to 
us  because  it  took  life  so  seriously.  This 
was  probably  not  intended  as  a  com 
pliment;  but  if  the  nineteenth  century 
could  hear  the  criticism  it  would  have 
good  reason  to  feel  flattered.  An  age 
that  does  not  take  life  seriously  will  get 
little  out  of  it.  One  of  the  greatest  ser 
vices  that  Christianity  can  render  to 
current  literature  is  to  inspire  it  with  a 
nobler  ambition  and  lift  it  to  a  higher 
level. 

I  remember  an  old  woodsman  in  the 
Adirondack  forest  who  used  to  say  that 
he  wanted  to  go  to  the  top  of  a  certain 
mountain  as  often  as  possible,  because 
it  gave  him  such  a  feeling  of  "heaven  - 
up-histedness."  That  is  an  uncouth, 
humble,  eloquent  phrase  to  describe  the 
function  of  a  great  literature. 

"  Unless  above  himself  he  can 
Erect  himself,  how  mean  a  thing  is  man  I " 
[170] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  LITERATURE 

I  want  the  books  that  help  me  out  of 
the  vacancy  and  despair  of  a  frivolous 
mind,  out  of  the  tangle  and  confusion 
of  a  society  that  is  buried  in  bric-a- 
brac,  out  of  the  meanness  of  unfeeling 
mockery  and  the  heaviness  of  incessant 
mirth,  into  a  loftier  and  serener  region, 
where,  through  the  clear  air  of  serious 
thoughts,  I  can  learn  to  look  soberly 
and  bravely  upon  the  mingled  misery 
and  splendour  of  human  existence,  and 
then  go  down  with  a  cheerful  courage 
to  play  a  man's  part  in  the  life  which 
Christ  has  forever  ennobled  by  his  di 
vine  presence. 


[171] 


IX 
THE  CHURCH  IN  THE   CITY 

THE  very  things  that  make  the  church 
most  needed  in  the  city  are  the  things 
that  make  it  hard  for  the  church  to 
survive  there.  The  throng  and  pressure 
of  multitudinous  life,  the  intensity  of 
business  competition  and  social  emu 
lation,  the  extravagance  of  wealth  and 
the  exigencies  of  poverty,  the  scarcity 
of  time  and  the  superabundance  of  pas 
time,  the  presence  of  crowds  and  the 
absence  of  fellowship,  the  avarice-chill 
and  the  amusement- fever,  the  vitality 
of  vice  and  the  nervous  prostration  of 
virtue,  the  rush  and  whirl  and  glare  and 
busy  emptiness  of  a  life  at  top  speed — 

[172] 


THE   CHURCH  IN  THE   CITY 

in  these  things  the  church  finds  its  op 
portunity,  its  call,  and  its  danger. 

If  the  city  church  is  to  fill  its  place, 
and  do  its  proper  work,  and  survive,  it 
must  have  two  things :  first,  a  clear  idea 
of  the  mission  to  which  Christ  has  ap 
pointed  it;  second,  a  firm  purpose  to 
fulfil  that  mission  and  not  to  die  while 
there  is  work  to  do. 

The  church  in  the  city  is  not  to  be 
conformed  to  the  fashion  of  the  sur 
rounding  world.  It  is  a  great  mistake 
to  suppose  that  men  and  women  want 
from  the  city  church  what  they  can  get, 
and  do  get,  anywhere  else  in  the  city — 
glitter  and  bustle  and  display  and  rival 
ry  and  superficial  entertainment.  They 
want  something  very  different;  and 
that  something  is  religion;  and  religion 
means  inward  purity  and  peace  and 
joy,  the  sense  of  God's  nearness,  the 
comfort  of  Christ's  love,  the  strength 

[173] 


THE   CHURCH  IN  THE   CITY 

that  comes  from  spiritual  food  and  fel 
lowship. 

It  may  seem  inconsistent  to  say  this 
after  what  I  have  already  said  of  the 
city.  But  the  truth  generally  resides  in 
apparent  contradictions.  The  character 
istics  of  city  life  intensify  the  necessity 
of  religion.  The  peril  of  the  city  church 
lies  in  the  temptation  to  make  itself  an 
annex  and  an  imitation,  rather  than  a 
refuge  and  a  contrast.  The  church  must 
always  be  separate  from  the  world,  in 
the  sense  that  the  church  has  something 
distinct  and  different  to  offer.  Not  a 
Sunday  lecture-hall,  a  sacred  concert- 
room,  an  ecclesiastical  millinery-shop, 
a  baptized  social  club,  or  a  disguised 
money-making  corporation — none  of 
these  things  does  the  city  need  from  the 
church,  but  "a  house  of  prayer  for  all 
nations";  a  place  where  divine  truth 
seems  clearer,  and  human  brotherhood 

[174] 


THE   CHURCH  IN  THE  CITY 

dearer,  and  heaven  a  little  nearer,  than 
anywhere  else  in  the  roaring  town. 

Separate  from  the  world  the  church 
must  be;  but  never  shut  off  from  the 
world.  Not  blind  to  the  facts  of  city 
life,  not  insensible  to  its  necessities,  not 
indifferent  to  its  peculiar  and  pressing 
problems,  but  wide-awake  to  all  these 
things,  close  to  the  business  and  bosoms 
of  the  men  and  women  for  whose  ser 
vice  it  exists.  The  church  must  move 
forward  with  the  tide  of  modern  prog 
ress,  keeping  abreast  of  the  develop 
ment  of  the  city  in  order  that  it  may 
meet  the  city's  need.  The  model  de 
scribed  in  the  book  of  Genesis  is  a  good 
model  for  a  Noah's  ark.  But  Noah  has 
been  dead  for  some  time.  The  church  is 
not  an  ark,  but  a  life-boat.  In  building 
a  life-boat  you  will  do  well  to  follow  the 
most  modern  lines  and  use  the  latest 
equipment.  The  aim  of  the  church  is 

[175] 


THE  CHURCH  IN  THE  CITY 

not  to  keep  on  doing  the  same  thing 
forever  in  the  same  way,  but  to  improve 
the  way  as  often  as  may  be  necessary 
to  keep  on  accomplishing  the  same 
thing. 

The  problem  of  denominationalism 
meets  the  city  church.  On  this  corner 
is  a  house  of  worship  that  is  called 
Presbyterian,  on  the  next  one  that  is 
called  Episcopalian,  on  the  next  one 
that  is  called  Baptist  or  Methodist,  and 
so  on.  What  does  this  mean  but  that 
good  people  have  different  tastes  and 
predilections  in  matters  of  form  and 
formula?  It  does  not  mean  that  they 
are  enemies.  Let  each  church  be  true 
to  its  own  type,  and  recognize  that  the 
city  has  room  and  need  for  all  types. 
And  if  the  types  become  less  crude,  less 
angular,  less  extreme,  by  virtue  of 
friendly  contact;  if  each  learns  some 
thing  from  the  others,  that  also  is  natu- 

[176] 


THE  CHURCH  IN  THE   CITY 

ral  and  profitable.  I  should  be  ashamed 
if  I  could  not  worship  gladly  in  any 
church  where  Christ  is  confessed  as 
Lord;  and  I  should  be  sorry  if  I  had 
not  some  memories  which  make  the 
church  of  my  father  and  mother  a 
little  sweeter,  a  little  more  home -like, 
than  any  other.  What  the  city  demands 
of  all  the  different  kinds  of  churches  is 
loyalty  to  type,  liberty  of  growth,  and 
largeness  of  heart  and  mind  in  common 
service. 

The  problem  of  institutionalism  meets 
the  city  church.  My  personal  conviction 
on  that  question  can  be  put  into  a  sen 
tence.  The  church  may  well  have  a  soup- 
kitchen,  if  it  is  needed;  but  the  church 
ought  never  to  be  a  soup-kitchen.  That 
kind  of  beneficence  which  ministers  to 
bodily  need  and  has  no  word  for  the 
soul,  that  kind  of  social  service  which 
is  carefully  devitalized  from  all  spir- 

[177] 


THE   CHURCH  IN  THE  CITY 

itual  purpose,  belongs,  if  anywhere,  to 
the  state,  not  to  the  church.  When  the 
church  gives  a  cup  of  cold  water  to  a 
little  child,  it  must  be  done  in  the  Mas 
ter's  name.  When  the  church  ministers 
to  the  sick,  the  afflicted,  the  imprisoned, 
it  must  seek  in  them  what  the  Master 
sought — their  souls,  to  save  them  from 
sin.  Bread?  Yes,  let  the  church  deal 
bread  to  the  hungry,  but  never  fail  to 
give  a  blessing  with  the  bread. 

The  problem  of  success  meets  the  city 
church.  Its  work  is  costly,  its  situation 
is  trying,  its  necessities  are  immediate. 
A  city  church  will  not  run  long  on  the 
momentum  of  the  past,  nor  survive 
many  years  on  the  strength  of  a  repu 
tation.  It  must  succeed  or  die.  Yes,  but 
what  does  it  mean  for  the  church  to 
succeed  ?  Only  this :  to  win  the  affection, 
confidence,  support,  and  loyalty  of  the 
people,  by  doing  its  own  work  and  ful- 

[178] 


THE  CHURCH  IN  THE   CITY 

filling  its  own  mission.  The  church  can 
succeed  only  by  deepening,  strengthen 
ing,  purifying,  the  influence  of  religion 
in  the  city.  Success  on  any  other  basis 
— fashionable,  financial,  sensational — 
means,  for  the  church  at  least,  a  living 
death. 

True,  you  sometimes  see  a  city  church 
which  is  distinctly  separate  from  the 
world,  rigidly  opposed  to  its  fashions, 
very  strict  in  discipline,  and  very  or 
thodox  in  doctrine,  slowly  shrivelling 
up  and  dying  out.  Why?  Because 
it  has  refrained  from  being  conformed 
to  the  fashion  of  the  world?  No!  But 
because  it  has  forgotten  to  be  trans 
formed  by  the  renewing  of  its  mind. 
Because  it  has  kept  the  righteousness  of 
the  kingdom,  and  left  out  the  peace  and 
the  joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost.  Because  its 
long  prayers  and  strict  rules  and  correct 
doctrines  have  become  dry,  dull,  and 

[179] 


THE  CHURCH  IN  THE  CITY 

mechanical.  It  has  lost  the  note  of  spir 
itual  gladness  and  power.  It  is  losing 
its  hold  on  the  city,  not  because  it  is  too 
religious,  but  because  it  is  not  quite 
religious  enough  to  rejoice  in  God,  and 
let  its  joy  shine  through.  The  right 
kind  of  a  church  for  the  city  is  one 
which,  however  simple  its  worship,  how 
ever  small  its  congregation,  is  manifest 
ly  filled  with  the  spirit  of  consolation, 
love,  and  good  cheer.  Everyone  who  en 
ters  it  feels  at  once,  "These  people  are 
glad  to  be  Christians,  and  glad  to  have 
me  with  them,  and  truly  it  is  good 
to  be  here."  Such  a  church  will  sur 
vive,  and  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word 
succeed. 

Somewhere  I  have  read  or  heard  a 
German  story  of  a  certain  poor  man 
who  always  used  to  go  about  his  work  in 
such  a  spirit  of  joy  and  contentment, 
with  such  beautiful  visions  shining  in 

[180] 


THE  CHURCH  IN  THE  CITY 

his  eyes,  that  he  was  called  "the  dream 
er."  When  he  married,  his  home  seemed 
to  be  full  of  the  same  ideal  peace  and 
gladness.  His  wife  and  children  were 
visited  by  the  same  visions.  When  a 
friend  asked  how  it  came  to  pass,  the 
man  confessed  that  he  carried  around 
with  him  all  the  time  the  dream  that  he 
was  a  king,  and  that  his  wife  was  the 
queen,  and  that  the  boys  and  girls  were 
princes  and  princesses.  They  all  shared 
the  dream,  and  they  lived  it  out  pleas 
antly  together,  so  that  every  pleasure 
was  a  royal  entertainment  and  every 
meal  was  a  royal  feast.  Thus  their  com 
mon  life  was  lifted  up  and  beautified. 

The  dream  of  the  poor  man  is  the  real 
ity  of  religion.  The  message  of  the  Gos 
pel  is  that  men  and  women  are  all  sons 
and  daughters  of  God.  The  church  that 
brings  this  message  and  makes  us  feel 
its  truth,  amid  the  noise  and  turmoil 

[181] 


THE  CHURCH  IN  THE  CITY 

and  weariness  and  oppression  of  city 
life,  is  the  right  kind  of  a  church  for 
the  city.  It  delivers  us  from  bondage. 
It  shows  us  how  to  be  happy.  It  helps 
us  to  be  good. 


[182] 


X 

PROPERTY   AND    THEFT 

THE  relation  of  Christianity  to  com 
munism  has  become  a  question  for 
thoughtful  people  to  consider  seriously, 
if  they  wish  to  preserve  their  intellect 
ual  candour  and  self-respect  in  adher 
ing  to  the  religion  of  Jesus.  The  reason 
for  this  is  curious  and  interesting. 
The  communists  of  the  earlier  type 
were  for  the  most  part  sturdy,  and 
sometimes  violent,  opponents  of  Chris 
tianity,  and  indeed  of  all  religions, 
except  such  as  they  themselves  occa 
sionally  invented.  With  this  kind  of 
communism,  men  who  sincerely  pro 
fessed  to  hold  the  Christian  faith  had, 
of  course,  no  question  of  relation  to 

[183] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

consider.  It  was  already  settled  that  it 
must  be  war. 

But  in  recent  times  a  new  type  of 
communism  has  arisen,  which  has  laid 
aside  the  red  cap  and  put  on  the  white 
cravat.  It  discusses  the  problem  of 
the  organization  of  society  on  ethical 
and  religious  grounds.  'The  real  social 
unit,'  says  modern  communism,  'is  not 
the  individual,  but  the  community,  and 
a  person  is  only  a  fraction,  who  can 
have  no  right  to  possess  anything  which 
the  community  needs  or  wants.  The 
law  which  pretends  to  confer  such  a 
right  upon  an  individual  —  the  law 
which  says,  for  example,  that  under 
certain  conditions  you  may  become  the 
rightful  owner  of  a  piece  of  land, 
which  you  may  use,  or  sell,  or  leave  to 
your  heirs,  and  which  shall  not  be  taken 
from  you  without  due  compensation — 
such  law  is  essentially  immoral  and  irre- 

[184] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

ligious,  because  it  protects  and  rewards 
a  form  of  selfishness.  All  things  really 
belong  to  all  men;  and  the  man  who 
wishes  to  gain  a  title  to  any  portion  of 
the  earth,  however  small,  is  in  effect 
willing  to  rob  his  fellow-men  of  that 
which  God  has  given  to  them  all  in 
common.  The  idea  of  private  property 
has  something  fundamentally  unright 
eous  about  it.  The  teachings  of  the 
Bible  are  against  it.  The  spirit  of  Jesus, 
who  was  really  a  great  socialist,  is  alto 
gether  in  favour  of  common  ownership. 
If  those  who  profess  to  follow  him 
were  truly  in  sympathy  with  his  doc 
trine  and  willing  to  apply  it  to  every 
day  life,  they  would  confess  that  what 
we  now  call  property  is  only  another 
form  of  theft,  and  would  do  their  best, 
at  all  hazards,  to  abolish  an  institution 
so  selfish,  unjust,  and  unchristian.' 
Thus  modern  communism,  at  least  in 

[185] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

one  of  its  manifestations,  instead  of  pro 
fessing  hostility  to  Christianity,  claims 
alliance  with  it,  and  justifies  itself  by 
an  appeal  to  the  moral  and  religious 
authority  of  the  Bible.  Not  very  long 
ago  a  candidate  for  the  mayoralty  of 
New  York  City  (an  honourable  man, 
and  one  who  polled  sixty-seven  thou 
sand  votes)  affirmed  that  every  man 
who  owned  his  home  was  practically  a 
robber  of  the  community,  and  sup 
ported  the  accusation  by  quoting  the 
Old  Testament.  A  preacher,  of  wide 
fame  and  influence,  declared  from  the 
pulpit  that  the  early  Christian  church 
at  Jerusalem  was  distinctly  communis 
tic,  and  that  this  is  "the  animus  of  the 
New  Testament."  Assertions  like  these, 
which  are  not  exceptional,  but  are  fre 
quently  made  by  men  of  undoubted 
sincerity  and  probity  and  benevolence, 
are  certainly  not  to  be  ignored  by  in- 

[186] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

telligent  Christians  who  value  their  own 
spiritual  integrity. 

If  property  is  theft,  according  to  the 
teachings  of  Jesus,  then  the  church  it 
self,  like  the  temple  of  old,  has  become 
a  den  of  thieves.  If  the  animus  of  the 
New  Testament  is  distinctly  communis 
tic,  then  every  honest  Christian  is  bound 
either  to  give  up  his  faith  in  the  holy 
scripture  or  to  obey  its  doctrine  not 
only  in  the  letter,  but  in  the  spirit,  and 
to  work  with  those  who  are  seeking  to 
establish  a  new  order  of  society  in  which 
private  possessions  shall  be  unknown. 

No  man  can  get  any  comfort  or 
strength  out  of  his  religion  if  he  sus 
pects  himself  of  disloyalty  to  it  in  his 
daily  transactions. 

The  sense  of  the  terrible  inequalities 
of  human  life  under  present  condi 
tions,  the  increased  knowledge  of  the 
privations  and  sufferings  of  the  poor, 

[187] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

the  misery  that  is  condensed  in  great 
cities,  the  hardship  that  embitters  toil 
in  lonely  and  desolate  regions,  the  dim 
consciousness  of  the  manifold  want 
and  woe  that  men  and  women  and 
little  children  are  enduring  in  this  tan 
gled  world,  press  heavily  upon  sensi 
tive  spirits  in  these  days.  If  all  this 
wretchedness  were  the  fruit  of  a  false 
social  order,  contrary  to  the  law  of 
God  and  the  spirit  of  Christ;  if  the 
Bible  revealed  a  remedy  for  it  all  in  the 
doctrine  of  communism,  which  Chris 
tians  were  too  ignorant  or  selfish  or 
cowardly  to  accept  or  apply,  then  it 
would  be  no  wonder  that  the  people 
who  play  traitor  to  their  own  religion 
should  find  that  it  no  longer  brings 
them  inward  peace  and  joy.  They  would 
deserve  to  be  ill  at  ease,  anxious,  full  of 
fears  and  forebodings.  They  would  de 
serve  to  be  of  all  men  most  miserable. 

[188] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

But  suppose  that,  after  all,  it  should 
be  true  that  human  poverty  and  want 
and  wretchedness  do  not  spring  from 
any  single  fault  in  the  social  order,  but 
from  a  deeper  source:  the  selfish  and 
wilful  evil  that  dwells  in  the  heart  of 
man.  Suppose  that  the  remedy  which 
Christianity  reveals  should  turn  out  to 
be  something  very  different  from  com 
munism:  not  the  abolition  of  private 
property,  but  the  use  and  control  of  it 
by  the  spirit  of  fair  play  and  wise  love. 
Then  the  church,  still  feeling  the  press 
ure  of  human  misery  upon  her  heart, 
and  confessing  her  want  of  greater 
wisdom  and  larger  love  in  seeking  to 
lighten  the  burdens  of  men,  could  yet 
face  her  problem  with  courage  and  a 
steady  mind.  She  need  have  no  sense 
of  fatal  inconsistency  in  declining  the 
alliance  which  communism  claims.  She 
could  try  to  follow  the  spirit  of  Christ 

[189] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

more  faithfully,  without  surrendering 
her  leadership  to  the  men  who  demand 
a  social  revolution. 

This  is  the  situation,  then,  which  the 
new  type  of  communism  forces  us  to 
face.  Those  who  are  sincere  in  accept 
ing  Christianity  as  the  true  religion, 
and  the  Bible  as  its  rule  of  faith  and 
practice,  must  meet  the  question  fairly 
and  consider  it  seriously.  Was  Jesus 
a  communist  at  heart?  Are  the  laws 
which  enable  men  to  own  their  homes, 
and  to  save  money  for  their  children, 
an  offence  to  him?  What  does  the 
Bible  really  teach  about  property  and 
theft? 

Two  cases  are  quoted  from  the  Bible 
to  prove  that  it  has  at  least  a  partial 
leaning  toward  the  communistic  theory. 

The  first  is  the  Hebrew  Year  of  Jubi 
lee,  which  is  used  as  an  argument  for 
the  nationalization  of  land. 

[190] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

Now,  when  we  study  the  Old  Testa 
ment  carefully  we  find  that  there  is  not 
a  word  of  historic  record  to  show  that 
the  Year  of  Jubilee  ever  went  into 
practical  operation;  nor  is  there  a  sin 
gle  passage  to  indicate  that  this  pecu 
liar  institution,  given  to  a  peculiar  peo 
ple  under  peculiar  circumstances,  was 
ever  intended  to  be  an  example  for  all 
nations  at  all  times.  To  claim  that  it 
was,  would  be  as  unreasonable  as  to 
argue  that  the  Jewish  method  of 
slaughtering  animals  should  be  imposed 
on  all  butchers. 

But  waiving  these  objections,  and 
looking  at  the  Year  of  Jubilee  as  a 
possible  model  for  legislation  in  our 
times,  we  see  that  it  was  simply  an 
iron-clad  law  of  entail,  more  rigid  than 
England  has  ever  known.  It  provided 
that  the  land  should  always  remain  in 
the  families  among  whom  it  had  been 

[191] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

divided  at  the  conquest  of  Canaan.  It 
could  neither  be  alienated  by  an  indi 
vidual,  nor  confiscated  by  the  state.  If 
a  man  was  forced  to  sell  his  land  by 
stress  of  poverty,  the  utmost  that  he 
could  dispose  of  was  a  title  to  the  usu 
fruct  for  as  much  of  the  fifty  years  as 
might  remain  before  the  next  Jubilee. 
At  any  time  he  might  redeem  it;  and 
at  the  end  of  the  fixed  period  every 
man  inevitably  "returned  unto  his  pos 


session." 


Suppose  a  company  of  Irish  immi 
grants  arriving  in  Judea  under  the 
operation  of  this  law:  they  could  have 
bought  city  property,  for  that  was  spe 
cially  exempt  from  its  provisions;  they 
could  have  rented  farms  from  the  native 
aristocracy ;  but  not  one  of  those  Hiber 
nians,  nor  one  of  their  children,  nor  one 
of  their  grandchildren,  could  ever  have 
acquired  a  share  in  one  square  inch  of 

[192] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

the  soil  of  the  country.  Any  man  who 
admires  this  system  is  at  liberty  to  say 
so;  but  it  is  hardly  probable  that  any 
one  will  try  to  put  it  into  practice,  nor 
does  it  look  much  like  what  we  com 
monly  understand  by  the  nationaliza 
tion  of  land,  which  is  to  make  the 
earth  as  free  as  the  air  and  the  light 
to  all  men. 

The  second  case  which  is  quoted  from 
the  Bible  in  favour  of  communism  is  the 
example  of  the  early  church  at  Jerusa 
lem.  It  is  described  in  the  second  and 
fourth  chapters  of  the  Book  of  Acts. 
The  characteristic  feature  of  it  is,  that 
the  believers  in  Christ  "were  together 
and  had  all  things  common;  and  sold 
their  possessions  and  goods,  and  parted 
them  to  all,  as  every  man  had  need." 

But  surely  this  does  not  imply  a  denial 
of  the  rights  of  private  property.  For 
if  an  individual  could  not  really  own 

[193] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

anything,  how  could  there  be  any  buy 
ing  or  selling?  If  the  fact  of  birth 
gives  everyone  an  equal  claim  upon  all 
the  good  things  of  the  world,  how  could 
these  Christians,  a  mere  handful  in  the 
city,  defend  their  funds  against  the 
Jews  and  the  heathen?  What  right  had 
they  to  confine  their  benefactions,  as 
they  did,  to  their  fellow-believers,  in 
stead  of  sharing  all  things  with  their 
brother-men?  It  would  be  an  unfort 
unate  thing  for  the  widows  and  or 
phans  of  our  great  cities  if  the  modern 
churches  should  adopt  the  strict  plan 
of  the  Jerusalem  Christians.  For,  in 
point  of  fact,  their  experiment  was 
simply  the  exercise  of  the  right  of 
every  man  to  do  as  he  chooses  with  his 
own;  and  they  chose  to  live  together 
and  help  each  other.  It  was  a  fraternal 
stock  company  for  mutual  aid  and  pro 
tection.  No  man  was  bound  to  come  into 

[194] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

it  unless  he  wished;  but  if  he  did  come 
in,  he  was  bound  to  act  honestly. 

Read  what  St.  Peter  said  to  that  hypo 
crite,  Ananias,  about  his  land:  "While 
it  remained,  was  it  not  thine  own?  And 
after  it  was  sold,  was  it  not  in  thine 
own  power?"  It  would  be  difficult  to 
imagine  a  stronger  statement  of  the 
rights  of  property  under  the  most  try 
ing  circumstances.  Of  course  it  is  pos 
sible  for  any  band  of  men  who  like  the 
Jerusalem  system  to  re-establish  it  to 
day;  but  its  result  of  pauperism  in  the 
primitive  church  was  not  particularly 
encouraging,  nor  would  it  bring  us  one 
step  nearer  to  the  communistic  ideal  of 
general  ownership  and  distribution  by 
the  state. 

There  are  some  other  cases  which  are 
not  frequently  quoted  by  modern  com 
munists,  but  which  have  a  direct  bear 
ing  upon  the  doctrine  of  the  Bible  in 

f  195  ] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

regard  to  the  rights  of  private  prop 
erty.  There  is  the  case  of  Naboth  and 
his  vineyard. 

Naboth  was  a  landholder.  He  had  in 
herited  a  field  from  his  ancestors.  It  be 
longed  to  him,  and  therefore  no  one  else 
had  a  right  to  build  on  it  or  to  cultivate 
it.  The  vines  which  he  had  planted  there 
were  his  own.  He  could  eat  the  grapes, 
or  make  wine  out  of  them,  or  give  them 
to  the  village  children.  The  "unearned 
increment"  which  had  come  to  that  field 
from  the  building  of  the  royal  palace 
in  the  neighborhood  was  a  part  of  Na- 
both's  property.  He  could  do  with  it  as 
he  liked — keep  it,  or  rent  it,  or  sell  it. 

Ahab  was  a  king.  He  represented  the 
state.  He  was  the  anointed  of  the  Lord, 
and  he  wanted  that  vineyard.  He  had 
not  the  nerve  to  take  it  by  violence,  nor 
the  cleverness  to  squeeze  Naboth  out 
with  a  tax.  So  he  tried  to  buy  it,  and 

[196] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

failing,  took  to  his  bed  and  turned  his 
face  to  the  wall.  But  Queen  Jezebel  was 
a  woman  of  larger  resources.  She  con 
trived  a  plan  to  get  rid  of  Naboth; 
and  then  she  invited  her  husband  to  go 
down  and  enjoy  the  confiscated  prop 
erty.  And  as  he  stood  in  the  vineyard, 
trembling  with  uncertain  pleasure,  that 
man  of  iron,  Elijah  the  prophet,  found 
him,  and  cursed  him  in  the  name  of 
the  just  God,  promising  that  his  race 
should  perish  in  shame  because  of  the 
evil  that  he  had  done. 

It  was  not  merely  because  Ahab  had 
connived  at  the  death  of  a  man.  Many 
a  king  of  Israel  had  done  worse  with 
out  incurring  a  special  revelation  of 
divine  wrath.  But  Ahab  had  violated  a 
sacred  right  of  property.  He  had  tram 
pled  upon  a  principle  of  justice  which 
made  that  poor  man's  vineyard  his  own, 
to  have  and  to  hold  against  all  comers, 

[197] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

whether  they  were  greedy  kings  or  en 
vious  beggars.  There  is  not  the  slight 
est  hint  that  Naboth  was  wronging 
anybody  in  owning  that  land ;  but  there 
is  the  plainest  teaching  that  in  trying 
to  take  it  away  from  him  against  his 
will  the  King  was  a  thief ;  and  for  that, 
God  promised  that  he  should  die  among 
the  dogs,  that  he  should  perish  as  a 
landless  vagabond. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  the  Old 
Testament  holds  out  scanty  encourage 
ment  to  the  advocates  of  communism. 
But  perhaps  we  shall  find  something  in 
the  New  Testament  to  support  the  no 
tion  that  private  property  is  unjust  and 
ought  to  be  speedily  abolished. 

What  shall  we  say  then  of  Jason  of 
Thessalonica,  and  Lydia  of  Philippi, 
and  Titus  Justus  of  Corinth,  and  Philip 
of  Csesarea,  who  all  received  the  apos 
tles  into  their  own  houses?  Were  these 

[198] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

people  engaged  in  perpetuating  a  cruel 
and  oppressive  distinction  between  the 
rich  and  the  poor? 

Turn  to  the  gospels.  There  was  a  man 
in  Bethany  named  Lazarus,  who  had  a 
house  in  which  he  sheltered  the  Christ 
whom  the  community  had  rejected. 
There  was  a  man  named  Zaccheus,  who 
was  rich  and  who  entertained  Jesus  at 
his  own  house.  Is  there  any  suggestion 
that  the  Master  disapproved  of  these 
property  owners?  There  was  a  man 
named  Joseph  of  Arimathea,  who  had 
a  garden  and  a  new  sepulchre  in  which 
he  made  a  quiet  resting-place  for  the 
body  of  him  whom  the  people  had  de 
spised  and  crucified.  Was  he  a  selfish 
robber? 

Christianity  never  would  have  found 
a  foothold  in  the  world,  it  never  would 
have  survived  the  storms  of  early  per 
secution,  had  it  not  been  sheltered  in  its 

[199] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

infancy  by  the  rights  of  private  prop 
erty,  which  are  founded  in  justice,  and 
therefore  are  respected  by  all  lovers  of 
righteousness,  Christian  or  heathen.  It 
is  difficult  to  see  how  the  religion  of 
Jesus  could  have  sanctioned  these  rights 
more  emphatically  than  by  using  them 
for  its  own  most  holy  purposes. 

But  someone  may  say  that  this  is  only 
the  lower  side  of  Christianity;  that  there 
is  a  higher  side  which  enforces  charity 
and  unselfish  benevolence  and  universal 
brotherhood;  and  that  in  the  develop 
ment  of  these  things  the  lower  side  is 
destined  to  disappear,  and  communism 
will  become  the  order  of  society.  Truly, 
it  would  be  difficult  to  exaggerate  the 
emphasis  which  is  laid  not  only  by 
Christ  and  His  apostles,  but  also  by  the 
Old  Testament  writers,  upon  the  duties 
of  kindness  and  generosity  and  compas 
sion  for  the  needy.  But  these  teachings 

[200] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

are  perfectly  consistent  with  those  other 
instructions  of  the  Bible  which  enjoin 
diligence  in  business,  and  fidelity  to 
contracts,  and  respect  for  the  property 
of  others. 

The  Bible  teaches  that  God  owns  the 
world.  He  distributes  to  every  man  ac 
cording  to  his  own  good  pleasure,  con 
formably  to  general  laws.  Under  the 
operation  of  these  laws  a  man  may  ac 
quire  such  a  title  to  certain  things  that 
for  any  other  man,  or  community  of 
men,  to  attempt  to  dispossess  him  with 
out  full  compensation  is  robbery.  Nor 
is  there  any  difference  in  this  respect 
between  the  property  of  the  rich  and 
the  property  of  the  poor.  If  it  be  fairly 
acquired  by  honest  industry,  lawful  in 
heritance,  or  just  exchange,  the  one  is 
as  sacred  as  the  other.  I  read  to-day  that 
the  savings-banks  of  New  York  State 
held  $1,250,000,000  of  deposits.  Most 

[201] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

of  this  money  has  been  laid  up  by  peo 
ple  who  work  for  wages.  And  if  the 
bulk  of  this  capital  should  go,  as  it 
probably  will,  into  the  purchase  of 
homes  for  families,  the  law  of  God  still 
declares  that  it  must  neither  be  stolen 
nor  confiscated,  nor  even  coveted,  by 
private  robber  or  public  thief. 

There  is  a  fundamental  and  absolute 
difference  between  the  doctrine  of  the 
Bible  and  the  doctrine  of  communism. 
The  Bible  tells  me  that  I  must  deal  my 
bread  to  the  hungry;  communism  tells 
the  hungry  that  he  may  take  it  for  him 
self.  The  Bible  teaches  that  it  is  a  sin 
to  covet;  communism  says  that  it  is  the 
new  virtue  which  is  to  regenerate  so 
ciety.  Communism  maintains  that  every 
man  who  is  born  has  a  right  to  live ;  but 
the  Bible  says  that  if  a  man  will  not 
work  neither  shall  he  eat;  and  without 
eating,  life  is  difficult.  Communism 
[202] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

holds  up  equality  of  condition  as  the 
ideal  of  Christianity;  but  Christ  never 
mentions  it.  He  tells  us  that  we  shall 
have  the  poor  always  with  us,  and 
charges  us  never  to  forget,  despise,  or 
neglect  them.  Christianity  requires  two 
things  from  every  man  that  believes  in 
it:  first,  to  acquire  his  property  by  just 
and  righteous  means;  and,  second,  to 
"look  not  only  on  his  own  things,  but 
also  on  the  things  of  others." 

This  condemns  the  reckless  greed  of 
the  gold-worshippers,  and  the  cruelty 
of  conscienceless  corporations,  and  the 
dishonesty  of  law-dodging  sharpers; 
but  it  condemns  equally  the  communis 
tic  theories  which  propose  to  sweep 
away  or  disregard  the  rights  of  private 
ownership.  When  the  communist  says 
that  the  public  lands  which  are  still  held 
by  the  state  ought  to  be  retained,  or 
distributed  according  to  a  new  system, 

[203] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

he  is  simply  propounding  an  economic 
theory  which  may  or  may  not  be  sound. 
But  when  he  says  that  the  real  estate 
which  has  become  private  property 
ought  to  be  practically  confiscated,  by 
taxation  or  in  any  other  way,  he  is  sim 
ply  teaching  us  to  call  theft  by  a  longer 
name.  It  is  not  a  question  of  expedi 
ency;  it  is  a  question  of  righteousness. 
I  have  entire  confidence  in  the  sincere 
philanthropy  and  generous  motives  of 
many  of  the  men  who  have  been  drawn 
into  a  partial  approval  of  communistic 
doctrines.  I  have  a  profound  sympathy 
with  them  in  hatred  of  all  tyranny  and 
oppression,  in  hearty  desire  for  the 
amelioration  of  society  and  the  relief  of 
all  unnecessary  suffering.  Surely  that 
is  at  least  one  of  the  objects  of  Chris 
tianity,  to  improve  the  present  condi 
tion  of  humanity,  to  make  the  whole 
world  not  only  better,  but  also  happier. 

[204] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

If  there  are  any  men  and  women  who 
live  in  fat  contentment  with  their  own 
physical  comfort,  and  shut  their  ears  to 
the  cry  of  the  distressed,  they  are  not 
true  disciples  of  the  compassionate  Je 
sus,  and  the  Bible  promises  that  they 
shall  have  a  heavy  reckoning  at  the  day 
of  judgment. 

But  it  does  not  seem  likely  that  the 
evils  of  society  can  be  cured  by  moving 
along  the  line  of  communism.  History 
warns  us  that  every  experiment  in  that 
direction  has  been  a  failure.  Free  corn 
filled  Rome  with  hungry  idlers.  The 
communistic  poor  laws  of  1815  made 
England  howl  with  want  and  shame 
and  crime.  There  is  no  reason  to  sup 
pose  that  men  in  the  mass  are  any  more 
wise  or  kind  or  benevolent  than  they 
are  as  individuals.  The  idea  of  an  all- 
absorbing,  all-controlling,  all-disburs 
ing  state  is  a  Frankenstein  monster. 

[205] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

Even  to  coquet  with  it  in  theory  is  to 
increase  the  miseries  of  society. 

It  is  in  the  interest  of  no  separate 
class,  but  of  all  mankind,  that  we  hold 
fast  to  the  old-fashioned  doctrine  of 
the  rights  of  property  coupled  with  the 
duties  of  charity.  The  asylums  and 
hospitals  of  New  York  City  now  draw 
the  greater  part  of  their  support  from 
the  Christian  benevolence  of  between 
three  and  four  thousand  persons.  What 
will  become  of  those  institutions  if  the 
springs  which  feed  them  are  destroyed? 
Does  anyone  think  that  the  Board  of 
Aldermen,  or  the  Labour  Party,  or  the 
city  at  large  would  do  the  work  better? 

The  advocates  of  communism,  in  their 
revision  of  the  Bible,  would  give  us  an 
improved  version  of  the  parable  of  the 
Good  Samaritan.  They  would  tell  us 
that  when  the  proud  Levite  and  the 
selfish  Priest  had  passed  by  the  wounded 

[206] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

man,  a  kind  communist  came  down  that 
way  and  began  to  whisper  in  the  suf 
ferer's  ear:  "My  friend,  you  have  been 
much  in  error.  You  were  a  thief  your 
self  when  you  were  amassing  your  pri 
vate  wealth;  and  these  gentlemen  who 
have  just  relieved  you  of  it  with  need 
less  violence  have  only  begun,  in  a  hasty 
and  unjustifiable  manner,  what  must 
soon  be  done,  in  a  large  and  calm  way, 
for  the  benefit  of  the  whole  commu 
nity."  Whereupon,  we  are  to  suppose, 
the  man  was  much  enlightened  and 
comforted,  and  would  have  become  a 
useful  member  of  society, — if  he  had 
lived. 

But  Christ  says  that  it  was  a  Samari 
tan,  a  man  of  property,  riding  on  his 
own  beast  and  carrying  a  little  spare 
capital  in  his  pocket,  who  lifted  up  the 
wounded  stranger,  and  gave  him  oil  and 
wine,  and  brought  him  into  a  place  of 

[207] 


PROPERTY  AND  THEFT 

security,  and  paid  for  his  support.  And 
to  everyone  who  hears  the  parable 
Christ  says:  "Go  thou  and  do  likewise." 
Here  is  the  open  secret  of  the  regenera 
tion  of  society  in  the  form  of  a  picture. 

If  we  want  it  in  the  form  of  a  phi 
losophy,  we  may  get  it  from  St.  Paul 
in  five  words: 

"Let  him  that  stole,  steal  no  more" — 
that  is  reformation;  "but  rather  let  him 
labour" — that  is  industry;  "working 
with  his  hands  that  which  is  good" — 
that  is  honesty;  "that  he  may  have" 
— that  is  property;  "to  give  to  him 
that  needeth" — that  is  charity. 


[208] 


XI 

THE    CREATIVE    IDEAL    OF 
EDUCATION 

IN  that  admirable  book,  The  American 
Commonwealth,  by  Mr.  James  Bryce, 
the  chapter  on  colleges  and  universities 
comes  immediately  after  the  chapter  on 
Wall  Street.  There  is  a  singular  con 
trast  between  them:  for,  while  the  one 
represents  the  nearest  approach  to  pes 
simism  in  an  uncommonly  cheerful 
book,  the  other  marks  the  highest  note 
of  optimism  to  which  a  British  writer 
can  allow  his  impressions  to  rise.  The 
Wall  Street  chapter  closes  with  the 
melancholy  remark  that  the  habits  of 
speculation,  constitutional  excitability, 

[209] 


CREATIVE    EDUCATION 

and  high  nervous  tension  seem  to  have 
passed  into  the  fibre  of  the  American 
people.  But  the  chapter  on  colleges  and 
universities  ends  with  the  hopeful  ob 
servation  that,  "while  of  all  the  institu 
tions  of  the  country  they  are  those  of 
which  the  Americans  speak  most  mod 
estly,  and  indeed  deprecatingly,  they 
are  those  which  seem  to  be  at  this  mo 
ment  making  the  swiftest  progress,  and 
which  have  the  brightest  promise  for 
the  future." 

In  regard  to  the  habit  of  modest  and 
deprecating  speech,  we  have  a  faint 
suspicion  that  the  author's  experience 
of  academic  anniversaries  may  have 
been  limited.  Perhaps  he  was  here  in 
the  dull  season.  Perhaps  he  went  only 
to  Boston  or  Chicago. 

But  in  regard  to  the  recognition  of 
our  educational  growth  as  one  of  the 
brightest  and  most  promising  features 

[210] 


CREATIVE   EDUCATION 

of  the  American  commonwealth,  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  it  is  an  accurate 
observation  and  a  wise  judgment.  No 
other  expansion  of  the  republic  can  be 
compared,  in  magnitude  or  in  meaning, 
with  the  expansion  of  education.  No 
other  assurance  of  protection  against 
those  perils  of  American  life  which  are 
popularly  symbolized  by  Wall  Street, 
can  be  compared  with  the  fact  that 
democratic  communities  have  recog 
nized  the  wisdom  and  the  necessity  of 
building  up  those  safeguards  of  na 
tional  sanity,  integrity,  and  liberty 
which  are  typified,  in  their  highest  de 
velopment,  by  the  university. 

It  is  to  education  that  we  look  for  pro 
tection  against  the  spirit  of 

"Raw  haste,  half-sister  to  delay  " — 

against  the  blind  and  reckless  temper 
of  gambling — against  the  stupid  idol- 

[211] 


CREATIVE    EDUCATION 

atry  of  mere  riches,  either  in  the  form 
of  servile  flattery  or  in  the  disguise  of 
equally  servile  envy.  Education  must 
give  us  better  standards  of  success  and 
higher  tests  of  greatness  than  gold  can 
measure.  Education  must  clarify  public 
opinion,  calm  and  allay  popular  excita 
bility,  tranquillize  and  steady  American 
energy,  dispel  local  and  sectional  preju 
dice,  and  strengthen  the  ties  which 
bind  together  all  parts  of  our  common 
country. 

Now,  these  are  great  expectations. 
We  cannot  hope  to  have  them  realized, 
even  in  part,  unless  we  give  to  our 
whole  educational  effort,  which  is  really 
bound  together  from  the  primary  school 
up  to  the  university,  the  highest  aim, 
the  true  direction,  the  right  movement. 
What,  then,  is  the  true  ideal  of  edu 
cation  in  a  great  democracy  like  the 
United  States? 

[212] 


CREATIVE    EDUCATION 

It  is  not  a  sufficient  answer  to  this 
question  to  observe  that  since  education 
is  derived  from  the  Latin  e-duco,  its 
true  purpose  must  be  the  bringing  out 
of  what  is  in  man.  This  definition  is 
simple,  but  not  satisfactory.  There  are 
many  things  in  man,  and  there  are  vari 
ous  methods  of  bringing  them  out.  The 
question  is,  What  are  the  best  things, 
and  which  is  the  best  method  of  devel 
opment? 

There  is,  for  example,  a  method  of 
bringing  out  the  grain  of  wood  by  a 
combination  of  stain  and  varnish.  It  is 
a  superficial  way  of  enhancing  the 
natural  difference  between  pine  and 
poplar  and  black  walnut.  Sometimes 
it  is  used  as  a  device  for  disguising 
the  difference  between  cherry  and  ma 
hogany.  Is  this  a  true  type  of  edu 
cation? 

There  is  also  a  method  of  bringing 

[  213  ] 


CREATIVE   EDUCATION 

out  the  resources  of  the  earth  by  work 
ing  it  for  the  largest  immediate  returns 
in  the  market.  Farms  are  exhausted 
by  overcropping;  pastures  desolated 
by  overstocking;  mines  worked  out  for 
a  record  yield.  Fictitious  values  are 
evolved  and  disposed  of  at  transitory 
prices.  Much  that  is  marketable  is 
brought  out  in  this  way.  Is  this  a  true 
type  of  education? 

There  is  also  a  method  of  bringing 
out  the  possibilities  of  a  living  plant  by 
culture,  giving  it  the  needed  soil  and 
nourishment,  defending  it  from  its 
natural  enemies,  strengthening  its  vi 
tality  and  developing  its  best  qualities. 
This  method  has  been  used,  in  the  ex 
periments  of  Mr.  Luther  Burbank,  in 
a  way  that  seems  almost  miraculous, 
changing  the  bitter  to  the  sweet,  the 
useless  to  the  useful,  and  proving  that 
by  a  progressive  regeneration  one  may 

[214] 


CREATIVE    EDUCATION 

hope  in  time  to  gather  grapes  of  thorns 
and  figs  of  thistles.  Is  this  a  true  type 
of  education? 

These  three  illustrations  of  different 
methods  of  "bringing  things  out"  rep 
resent  in  picture  the  three  main  educa 
tional  ideals  which  men  have  followed. 
Back  of  our  various  academic  schemes 
and  theories,  back  of  the  propositions 
which  are  made  by  college  presidents 
for  the  adoption  of  new  methods  or  the 
revival  of  old  methods,  back  of  the 
fluent  criticisms  which  are  passed  upon 
our  common  schools  and  universities, 
lies  the  question  of  the  dominant  aim 
in  teaching  and  learning.  What  should 
be  the  ideal  of  education  in  a  democ 
racy — the  decorative  ideal,  the  market 
able  ideal,  or  the  creative  ideal? 

I  speak  of  the  decorative  ideal  first, 
because,  strangely  enough,  it  is  likely 
to  take  precedence  in  order  of  time,  and 

[215] 


CREATIVE   EDUCATION 

certainly  it  is  pre-eminent  in  worthless- 
ness.  Barbarous  races  prefer  ornament 
to  decency  or  comfort  in  dress.  Alex 
ander  von  Humboldt  observed  that  the 
South  American  Indians  would  endure 
the  greatest  hardships  in  the  matter 
of  insufficient  clothing  rather  than  go 
without  the  luxury  of  brilliant  paint  to 
decorate  their  naked  bodies.  Herbert 
Spencer  used  this  as  an  illustration  of 
the  preference  of  the  ornamental  to  the 
useful  in  education. 

The  decorative  conception  of  educa 
tion  seems  to  be  the  acquisition  of  some 
knowledge  or  accomplishment  which  is 
singular.  The  impulse  which  produces 
it  is  not  so  much  a  craving  for  that 
which  is  really  fine,  as  a  repulsion  from 
that  which  is  supposed  to  be  common. 
It  is  a  desire  to  have  something  in  the 
way  of  intellectual  or  social  adornment 
which  shall  take  the  place  of  a  mantle 

[216] 


CREATIVE   EDUCATION 

of  peacock's  feathers  or  a  particularly 
rich  and  massive  nose-ring. 

This  ideal  not  only  rejects,  contemns, 
and  abhors  the  useful,  but  it  exhibits  its 
abhorrence  by  exalting,  commending, 
and  cherishing  the  useless,  chiefly  be 
cause  it  is  less  likely  to  be  common.  It 
lays  the  emphasis  upon  those  things 
which  have  little  or  no  relation  to 
practical  life.  It  speaks  a  language  of 
its  own  which  the  people  cannot  un 
derstand.  It  pursues  accomplishments 
whose  chief  virtue  is  that  they  are  com 
paratively  rare,  and  puts  particular 
stress  upon  knowledge  which  is  sup 
posed  to  bestow  a  kind  of  gilding  or 
enamel  upon  the  mind.  This  ideal  is  apt 
to  be  especially  potent  in  the  beginning 
of  a  democracy,  and  to  produce  a  crop 
of  "young  ladies'  finishing  schools"  and 
"young  gentlemen's  polishing  acade 
mies"  singularly  out  of  proportion  to 


CREATIVE    EDUCATION 

the  real  needs  of  the  country.  In  its 
later  development  it  brings  forth  all 
kinds  of  educational  curiosities  and 
abortions. 

In  this  second  crop  of  the  decorative 
school  of  culture  we  find  those  strange 
phenomena  of  intellectual  life  which  are 
known  under  the  names  of  ^Estheticism 
and  Symbolism  and  Decadentism  and 
the  like.  Their  mark  is  eccentricity. 
Their  aim  is  the  visible  separation  of 
the  cultured  person  from  the  common 
herd.  His  favourite  poet  must  be  one 
who  is  caviar  to  the  vulgar.  His  chosen 
philosopher  must  be  able  to  express 
himself  with  such  obscurity  that  few, 
if  any,  can  comprehend  him.  He  must 
know  more  than  anyone  else  about  the 
things  that  are  not  worth  knowing,  and 
care  very  passionately  for  the  things 
that  are  not  usually  considered  worth 
caring  about.  He  must  believe  that 

[218] 


CREATIVE    EDUCATION 

Homer  and  Dante  and  Milton  and  the 
Bible  have  been  very  much  overrated, 
and  carefully  guard  himself,  as  Oscar 
Wilde  did  in  the  presence  of  the  ocean, 
from  giving  way  to  sentiments  of  vul 
gar  admiration.  His  views  of  history 
must  be  based  upon  the  principle  of 
depreciating  familiar  heroes  and  white 
washing  extraordinary  villains.  He 
must  measure  the  worth  of  literature 
by  its  unpopularity,  and  find  his  chief 
joy  in  the  consciousness  that  his  tastes, 
his  opinions,  and  his  aspirations  are  un 
like  those  of  common  people. 

But  the  favourite  sphere  of  decorative 
culture  is  the  realm  of  art.  For  here 
it  finds  the  way  to  distinction  easiest 
and  most  open.  The  degradation  and 
torpor,  the  spirit  of  ignorance  and  blind 
perversity  which  fell  upon  the  arts  of 
design  and  expression  in  the  middle  of 
the  last  century,  and  which  still  pre- 

[219] 


CREATIVE    EDUCATION 

vail  to  a  considerable  extent  among 
those  whom  Matthew  Arnold  used  to 
revile  as  the  Philistines  of  England 
and  America,  made  it  necessary  to  be 
gin  a  reform.  Certain  artists  who  were 
very  much  in  earnest  (call  them  pre- 
Raphaelites,  or  men  of  the  new  renais 
sance,  or  Impressionists,  or  musicians 
of  the  future,  or  what  you  will)  took 
up  the  work,  and  won,  together  with  a 
great  deal  of  ridicule,  a  large  reward 
of  fame.  In  their  wake  has  followed  the 
motley  throng  of  aesthetes,  great  and 
small,  learned  and  unlearned,  male  and 
female  and  neuter;  the  people  who  talk 
about  art  because  they  think  it  is  fine; 
who  discover  unutterable  sentiments  in 
beds  and  tables,  stools  and  candlesticks ; 
who  go  into  raptures  over  a  crooked- 
necked  Madonna  after  they  have  looked 
into  their  catalogues  and  discovered 
that  it  was  painted  by  Botticelli;  and 

[2201 


CREATIVE   EDUCATION 

who  insist  with  ecstatic  perversity  that 
the  worst  of  Wagner  is  better  than  the 
best  of  Beethoven.  It  is  the  veriest 
simian  mimicry  of  artistic  enthusiasm, 
a  thing  laughable  to  gods  and  men. 

True  art — large,  generous,  sincere— 
"the  expression  of  noble  emotions  for 
right  causes" — is  a  noble  and  ennobling 
study.  But  art  as  a  fashion,  with  its 
cant,  its  affectation,  its  blind  following 
of  the  blind,  is  a  poor  inanity.  There  is 
no  use  for  it  in  a  democracy — nor  in 
deed  anywhere  in  this  world  which  was 
created  by  the  Great  Lover  of  Truth 
and  Hater  of  Shams.  The  intellectual 
poseur,  the  shallow  and  self-satisfied 
aesthete  is  the  last  person  who  is  entitled 
to  set  up  a  claim  to  the  possession  of 
the  true  theory  and  the  ripe  result  of 
education. 

At    the    opposite    extreme    from    the 
decorative    ideal    lies    the    marketable 

[221] 


CREATIVE   EDUCATION 

ideal  of  education.  Its  object,  broadly 
stated,  is  simply  to  bring  out  a  man's 
natural  abilities  in  such  a  way  that  he 
shall  be  able  to  get  the  largest  return 
in  money  for  his  work  in  the  practical 
affairs  of  life.  Nothing  is  of  value,  ac 
cording  to  this  ideal,  which  is  not  of 
direct  utility  in  a  business  or  a  profes 
sion.  Nothing  counts  which  has  not  an 
immediate  cash  value  in  the  world's 
market. 

"Send  my  boy  to  high-school  and  col 
lege!"  says  the  keen  man  of  business. 
"What  good  will  that  do  him?  Seven 
years  at  the  dead  languages  and  higher 
mathematics  will  not  teach  him  to  make 
a  sharp  bargain  or  run  a  big  enter 
prise."  He  thinks  he  has  summed  up 
the  whole  argument.  But  he  has  only 
begged  the  question.  The  very  point  at 
issue  is  whether  the  boy  is  a  tool,  to  be 
ground  and  sharpened  for  practical  use, 

[222] 


CREATIVE   EDUCATION 

or  a  living  creature,  whose  highest  value 
is  to  be  realized  by  personal  develop 
ment. 

The  influence  of  this  cash-value  theory 
of  culture  may  be  seen  in  many  direc 
tions. 

It  shows  itself  in  certain  features  of 
our  common-school  system,  not  in  the 
places  where  it  is  at  its  best,  but  in  the 
places  where  it  is  controlled  by  poli 
ticians,  sectarians,  or  cranks.  It  is  far 
too  mechanical.  The  children  are  run 
through  a  mill.  They  are  crammed  with 
rules  and  definitions,  while  their  ideas 
and  feelings  are  left  to  take  care  of 
themselves.  Their  imagination,  that 
most  potent  factor  of  life,  is  entrusted 
to  the  guidance  of  the  weekly  story- 
paper,  and  their  moral  nature  to  the 
guidance  of  chance.  The  overworked 
and  underpaid  teacher  is  forced,  by  a 
false  system  of  competition,  to  pack 

[223] 


CREATIVE   EDUCATION 

their  little  minds  as  full  as  possible  of 
rules  which  they  do  not  understand,  and 
definitions  which  do  not  define,  and 
assorted  fragments  of  historical,  geo 
graphical,  chemical,  mechanical,  and 
physiological  knowledge,  which  are  sup 
posed  to  have  a  probable  market  value. 
It  would  be  a  good  thing  if  the  cities 
and  towns  of  America  would  spend 
twice  as  much  as  they  are  spending  to 
day  for  common-school  education.  It 
would  be  a  good  thing  if  we  could  have 
twice  as  many  teachers,  and  twice  as 
intelligent,  especially  for  the  primary 
grades.  And  then  it  would  be  a  good 
thing  if  we  could  sweep  away  half  the 
"branches"  that  are  now  taught,  and 
abolish  two-thirds  of  the  formal  exam 
inations,  and  make  an  end  of  compe 
titions  and  prizes,  and  come  down,  or 
rather  come  up,  to  the  plain  work  of 
teaching  children  to  read  intelligently 

[224] 


CREATIVE   EDUCATION 

and  write  clearly  and  cipher  accurately 
— the  foundation  of  a  solid  education. 
The  marketable  ideal  of  culture  makes 
itself  felt,  also,  to  a  considerable  extent, 
in  some  of  the  higher  institutions  of 
learning.  We  can  trace  its  effects  in  the 
tendency  to  push  the  humanities  aside, 
and  to  train  the  young  idea,  from  the 
earliest  possible  period,  upon  the  trellis 
of  a  particular  trade.  Every  branch, 
every  tendril  which  does  not  conform  to 
these  lines  must  be  cut  off .  The  impor 
tance  of  studies  is  to  be  measured  by 
their  direct  effect  upon  professional 
and  industrial  success.  The  plan  is  to 
educate  boys,  not  for  living,  but  for 
making  a  living.  They  are  to  be  culti 
vated  not  as  men,  but  as  journalists, 
surveyors,  chemists,  lawyers,  physicians, 
manufacturers,  mining  engineers,  sell 
ers  of  wet  and  dry  goods,  bankers,  ac 
countants,  and  what  not. 

[225] 


CREATIVE   EDUCATION 

In  obedience  to  this  theory,  the  atten 
tion  of  the  student  is  directed  from  the 
outset  to  those  things  for  which  he  can 
see  an  immediate  use  in  his  chosen  pur 
suit.  Literature  is  spoken  of  in  aca 
demic  circles  as  a  mere  embellishment 
of  the  solid  course;  and  philosophy  is 
left  to  those  odd  fellows  who  are  going 
into  the  ministry  or  into  teaching.  The 
library  is  no  longer  regarded  as  a  spir 
itual  palace  where  the  student  may  live 
with  the  master-minds  of  all  the  ages. 
It  has  taken  on  the  aspect  of  a  dis 
pensary  where  useful  information  can 
be  procured  in  small  doses  for  prac 
tical  purposes.  Half -endowed  technical 
schools  spring  up  all  over  the  land,  like 
mushrooms  after  a  shower.  We  have 
institutes  of  everything,  from  stenog 
raphy  to  farriery;  it  remains  only  to 
add  a  few  more,  such  as  an  Academy 
of  Mesmerism,  a  College  of  Mind 

[226] 


CREATIVE   EDUCATION 

Healing,  and  a  Chiropodists'  Univer 
sity,  to  round  out  the  encyclopaedia  of 
complete  culture  according  to  the  com 
mercial  ideal. 

Let  no  one  imagine  that  I  mean  to 
say  a  word  against  trade  schools.  On 
the  contrary,  I  would  speak  most  heart 
ily  in  their  support.  So  far  as  they  do 
their  work  well  they  are  an  admirable 
and  needful  substitute  for  the  earlier 
systems  of  apprenticeship  for  the  vari 
ous  trades.  Democracy  needs  them. 
They  are  really  worth  all  the  money 
that  is  put  into  them.  But  the  error  lies 
in  supposing  that  they  can  take  the 
place  of  the  broader  and  higher  educa 
tion.  By  their  own  confession  they  move 
on  another  level.  They  mean  business. 
But  business  is  precisely  the  one  thing 
which  education  does  not  mean.  It  may, 
doubtless  it  will,  result  in  making  a 
man  able  to  do  his  own  special  work 

[227] 


CREATIVE   EDUCATION 

in  a  better  spirit  and  with  a  finer  skill. 
But  this  result  is  secondary,  and  not 
primary.  It  is  accomplished  by  for 
getting  the  specialty  and  exalting  the 
man. 

True  education  must  begin  and  con 
tinue  with  a  fine  disregard  of  pecuniary 
returns.  It  must  be  catholic,  genial,  dis 
interested.  Its  object  is  to  make  the 
shoemaker  go  beyond  his  last — "Sutor 
ultra  crepidam" — and  the  clerk  beyond 
his  desk,  and  the  surveyor  beyond  his 
chain,  and  the  lawyer  beyond  his  brief, 
and  the  doctor  beyond  his  prescription, 
and  the  preacher  beyond  his  sermon. 

Special  training,  with  an  eye  fixed  on 
some  practical  pursuit,  works  directly 
the  other  way,  and  against  the  interests 
of  a  true  democracy.  It  deepens  the 
lines  which  separate  men.  It  divides 
them  into  isolated  trades  which  become 
close  corporations,  and  into  rival  guilds 

[228] 


CREATIVE   EDUCATION 

which  defend  themselves  by  blocking 
all  avenues  of  intercommunication. 

But  the  right  culture  for  a  democracy 
is  that  which  opens  the  avenues  of  mu 
tual  comprehension,  and  increases  the 
common  ground  of  humanity.  It  broad 
ens  and  harmonizes  men  on  the  basis  of 
that  which  belongs  to  all  mankind.  If 
it  elevates  certain  persons  above  their 
fellows,  it  does  not  therefore  separate 
them  from  the  race,  but  joins  them  to 
it  more  broadly.  It  lifts  them  as  the 
peaks  of  a  mountain-range  are  lifted, 
with  a  force  that  spreads  the  base  while 
it  raises  the  summit.  The  peaks  are  the 
unifying  centres  of  the  system.  And  the 
springs  that  rise  among  the  loftiest  hills 
flow  down  joyfully  through  the  valleys 
and  the  plains. 

The  right  ideal  of  education  in  a  de 
mocracy  is  the  creative  ideal.  It  does  not 
seek  to  adorn  men  with  certain  rare  ac- 

[229] 


CREATIVE   EDUCATION 

complishments  which  shall  be  the  marks 
of  a  Brahminical  caste.  It  does  not 
seek  to  train  men  for  certain  practical 
pursuits  with  an  eye  single  to  their 
own  advantage.  It  seeks,  by  a  vital 
culture,  to  create  new  men,  and  new 
kinds  of  men,  who  shall  be  of  ever- 
increasing  worth  to  the  republic  and 
to  mankind. 

Creation,  as  it  is  now  interpreted,  is  a 
process  of  development.  If  this  inter 
pretation  be  true,  the  result  is  none  the 
less  creative.  Species  originate,  whether 
their  origin  be  swift  or  slow. 

Education  is  the  human  analogue  of 
creation.  Its  beginning  is  the  unfolding 
of  something  which  already  exists.  But 
its  aim,  its  motive,  its  triumphant  result, 
is  the  production  of  something  which 
did  not  exist  before. 

The  educated  man  is  a  new  man.  It  is 
not  merely  that  he  knows  more.  It  is 

[230] 


CREATIVE   EDUCATION 

not  merely  that  he  can  do  more.  There 
is  something  in  him  which  was  not  there 
when  his  education  began.  And  this 
something  gives  him  a  new  relation  to 
the  past,  of  which  it  is  the  fruit,  and  to 
the  future,  of  which  it  is  the  promise. 
It  is  of  the  nature  of  an  original  force 
which  draws  its  energy  from  a  new  con 
tact  with  the  world  and  with  mankind, 
and  which  distributes  its  power  through 
out  life  in  all  its  channels. 

This,  it  seems  to  me,  is  the  real  object 
and  the  right  result  of  education;  to 
create  out  of  the  raw  stuff  that  is  hid 
den  in  the  boy  a  finer,  stronger,  broader, 
nobler  type  of  man. 

In  using  this  language  I  am  not  deal 
ing  in  glittering  generalities.  The  bet 
ter  manhood  of  which  I  speak  as  the 
aim  of  education  is  no  vague  and  nebu 
lous  thing — the  dim  delight  of  sensa 
tional  preachers  and  virile  novelists.  It 

[231] 


CREATIVE    EDUCATION 

has  four  definite  marks:  the  power  to 
see  clearly,  the  power  to  imagine  viv 
idly,  the  power  to  think  independently, 
and  the  power  to  will  nobly.  These  are 
the  objects  that  the  creative  ideal  sets 
before  us,  and  in  so  doing  it  gives  us 
a  standard  for  all  educational  effort, 
from  the  kindergarten  to  the  univer 
sity;  a  measure  of  what  is  valuable  in 
old  systems  and  of  what  is  desirable 
in  new  theories;  and  a  test  of  true  suc 
cess  in  teaching  and  learning. 

I  care  not  whether  a  man  is  called 
a  tutor,  an  instructor,  or  a  full  pro 
fessor;  nor  whether  any  academic  de 
grees  adorn  his  name;  nor  how  many 
facts  or  symbols  of  facts  he  has  stored 
away  in  his  brain.  If  he  has  these  four 
powers — clear  sight,  quick  imagination, 
sound  reason,  and  right,  strong  will — I 
call  him  an  educated  man  and  fit  to  be 
a  teacher. 

[232] 


CREATIVE   EDUCATION 

I  use  the  word  "sight"  to  denote  all 
those  senses  which  are  the  natural  inlets 
of  knowledge.  Most  men  are  born  with 
five,  but  comparatively  few  learn  the 
use  of  even  one.  The  majority  of  peo 
ple  are  like  the  idols  described  by  the 
psalmist:  "Eyes  have  they,  but  they  see 
not:  they  have  ears,  but  they  hear  not: 
noses  have  they,  but  they  smell  not." 
They  walk  through  the  world  like  blind 
men  at  a  panorama,  and  find  it  very 
dull.  There  is  a  story  of  an  English 
woman  who  once  said  to  the  great 
painter  Turner,  by  way  of  comment  on 
one  of  his  pictures:  "I  never  saw  any 
thing  like  that  in  nature."  "Madam," 
said  he,  "what  would  you  give  if  you 
could?" 

The  power  to  use  the  senses  to  their 
full  capacity,  clearly,  sensitively,  pene 
tratingly,  does  not  come  by  nature.  It 
is  the  fruit  of  an  attentive  habit  of 

[233] 


CREATIVE    EDUCATION 

veracious  perception.  Such  a  habit  is 
the  result  of  instruction  applied  to  the 
opening  of  blind  eyes  and  the  unseal 
ing  of  deaf  ears.  The  academic  studies 
which  have  most  influence  in  this  direc 
tion  are  those  which  deal  principally 
with  objective  facts,  such  as  nature- 
study,  language,  numbers,  drawing, 
and  music. 

But  the  education  of  perceptive  power 
is  not,  and  cannot  be,  carried  on  exclu 
sively  in  the  study  and  the  class-room. 
Every  meadow  and  every  woodland  is 
a  college,  and  every  city  square  is  full 
of  teachers.  Do  you  know  how  the 
stream  flows,  how  the  kingfisher  poises 
above  it,  how  the  trout  swims  in  it,  how 
the  ferns  uncurl  along  its  banks?  Do 
you  know  how  the  human  body  bal 
ances  itself,  and  along  what  lines  and 
curves  it  moves  in  walking,  in  running, 
in  dancing,  and  in  what  living  charac- 

[234] 


CREATIVE   EDUCATION 

ters  the  thoughts  and  feelings  are  writ 
ten  on  the  human  face?  Do  you  know 
the  structural  aspect  of  man's  temples 
and  palaces  and  bridges,  of  nature's 
mountains  and  trees  and  flowers?  Do 
you  know  the  tones  and  accents  of 
human  speech,  the  songs  of  birds,  the 
voices  of  the  forests  and  the  sea?  If  not, 
you  need  creative  culture  to  make  you 
a  sensitive  possessor  of  the  beauty  of 
the  world. 

Every  true  university  should  make 
room  in  its  scheme  for  life  out-of-doors. 
There  is  much  to  be  said  for  John  Mil 
ton's  plan  of  a  school  whose  pupils 
should  go  together  each  year  on  long 
horseback  journeys  and  sailing  cruises 
in  order  to  see  the  world.  Walter  B age- 
hot  said  of  Shakespeare  that  he  could 
not  walk  down  a  street  without  know 
ing  what  was  in  it.  John  Burroughs  has 
a  college  on  a  little  farm  beside  the 

[235] 


CREATIVE    EDUCATION 

Hudson;  and  John  Muir  has  a  univer 
sity  called  Yosemite.  If  such  men  cross 
a  field  or  a  thicket  they  see  more  than 
the  seven  wonders  of  the  world.  That 
is  culture.  And  without  it,  all  scholastic 
learning  is  arid,  and  all  the  academic 
degrees  known  to  man  are  but  china 
oranges  hung  on  a  dry  tree. 

But  beyond  the  world  of  outward  per 
ception  there  is  another  world  of  inward 
vision,  and  the  key  to  it  is  imagination. 
To  see  things  as  they  are — that  is  a1 
precious  gift.  To  see  things  as  they 
were  in  their  beginning,  or  as  they  will 
be  in  their  ending,  or  as  they  ought  to 
be  in  their  perfecting;  to  make  the  ab 
sent,  present;  to  rebuild  the  past  out 
of  a  fragment  of  carven  stone ;  to  fore 
see  the  future  harvest  in  the  grain  of 
wheat  in  the  sower's  hand;  to  visualize 
the  face  of  the  invisible,  and  enter  into 
the  lives  of  all  sorts  and  conditions  of 

[236] 


CREATIVE   EDUCATION 

unknown  men — that  is  a  far  more  pre 
cious  gift. 

Imagination  is  more  than  a  pleasant 
fountain;  it  is  a  fertilizing  stream. 
Nothing  great  has  ever  been  discovered 
or  invented  without  the  aid  of  imagina 
tion.  It  is  the  medium  of  all  human 
sympathy.  No  man  can  feel  with  an 
other  unless  he  can  imagine  himself  in 
the  other  man's  place. 

The  chief  instrument  in  the  education 
of  imagination  is  literature.  The  object 
of  literary  culture  is  very  simple.  It  is 
to  teach  a  man  to  distinguish  the  best 
books,  and  to  enable  him  to  read  them 
with  inward  vision.  The  man  who  has 
read  one  great  book  in  that  way  has  be 
come  a  new  creature  and  entered  a  new* 
world.  But  in  how  many  schools  and 
colleges  does  that  ideal  prevail?  We  are 
spending  infinite  toil  and  money  to  pro 
duce  spellers  and  parsers  and  scanners. 

[237] 


CREATIVE    EDUCATION 

We  are  trying  hard  to  increase  the 
number  of  people  who  can  write  with 
ease,  while  the  race  of  people  who  can 
read  with  imagination  is  left  to  the  care 
of  chance.  I  wish  that  we  might  reverse 
the  process.  If  our  education  would  but 
create  a  race  of  readers,  earnest,  intelli 
gent,  capable  of  true  imaginative  effort, 
then  the  old  writers  would  not  be  for 
gotten,  and  the  new  ones  would  get  a 
wiser  welcome  when  they  arrive. 

But  the  design  of  education  is  not 
accomplished  unless  a  man  passes  be 
yond  the  power  of  seeing  things  as  they 
are,  and  beyond  the  power  of  interpret 
ing  and  appreciating  the  thoughts  of 
other  men,  into  the  power  of  thinking 
for  himself.  To  be  able  to  ask,  "Why?" 
and  to  discover  what  it  means  to  say, 
"Because" — that  is  the  intellectual  tri 
umph  of  education. 

"To   know   the    best   that   has   been 

[238] 


CREATIVE    EDUCATION 

thought  and  said  in  the  world,"  is  what 
Matthew  Arnold  calls  culture.  It  is  an 
excellent  attainment.  But  there  is  a  step 
beyond  it,  that  leads  from  culture  into 
manhood.  That  step  is  taken  when  the 
student,  knowing  something  of  the  best 
that  other  men  have  thought  and  said, 
begins  to  think  his  own  thoughts  clearly 
through  and  to  put  them  into  his  own 
words.  Then  he  passes  through  instruc 
tion  into  education.  Then  he  becomes  a 
real  person  in  the  intellectual  world. 

The  mere  pursuit  of  knowledge  is 
not  necessarily  an  emancipating  thing. 
There  is  a  kind  of  reading  which  is  as 
passive  as  massage.  There  is  a  kind  of 
study  which  fattens  the  mind  for  ex 
amination  like  a  prize  pig  for  a  county 
fair.  No  doubt  the  beginning  of  in 
struction  must  lie  chiefly  in  exercises  of 
perception  and  memory.  But  at  a  cer 
tain  point  the  reason  and  the  judgment 

[239] 


CREATIVE   EDUCATION 

must  be  awakened  and  brought  into 
voluntary  play.  As  a  teacher  I  would 
far  rather  have  a  pupil  give  an  incor 
rect  answer  in  a  way  which  showed  that 
he  had  really  been  thinking  about  the 
subject,  than  a  literally  correct  answer 
in  a  way  which  showed  that  he  had 
merely  swallowed  what  I  had  told  him, 
and  regurgitated  it  on  the  examination 
paper. 

It  seems  to  me,  then,  that  a  teacher 
should  give  his  pupils  rules  in  such  a 
form  that  they  can  use  them  to  work  out 
their  own  problems.  He  should  instruct 
them  in  languages  so  that  words  may 
serve  to  express  clearly  and  accurately 
their  own  thoughts.  He  should  teach 
them  science  in  order  that  they  may 
form  habits  of  accurate  observation, 
careful  induction,  and  moderate  state 
ment  of  laws  which  are  not  yet  fully 
understood.  And  if  his  instruction  goes 

[240] 


CREATIVE   EDUCATION 

on  to  philosophy,  history,  literature, 
jurisprudence,  government,  his  aim 
should  be  to  give  his  pupils  some  stand 
ards  by  which  they  can  estimate  the 
works  and  ways,  the  promises  and  pro 
posals  of  men  to-day.  Pupils  thus  edu 
cated  will  come  out  into  the  world  pre 
pared  to  take  a  real  part  in  its  life. 
They  will  be  able  to  form  an  opinion 
without  waiting  for  an  editorial  in  their 
favourite  newspaper.  They  will  not 
need  to  borrow  another  man's  spectacles 
before  they  can  trust  their  eyes. 

"My  mind  to  me  a  kingdom  is," 

wrote  the  quaint  old  courtly  poet,  Sir 
Edward  Dyer.  But  how  many  there 
are,  in  all  classes  of  society,  who  have 
no  right  to  use  his  words.  Discrowned 
monarchs,  exiled  and  landless,  desolate 
and  impotent,  wearied  with  trivial  cares 
and  dull  amusements,  enslaved  to  mas- 

[241] 


CREATIVE   EDUCATION 

ters  whom  they  despise  and  tasks  which 
promise  much  and  pay  little — what  pos 
session  is  there  that  they  can  call  their 
own,  what  moment  of  time  in  which 
they  are  not  at  the  beck  and  call  of 
other  men,  either  grinding  stolidly  at 
their  round  in  the  treadmill  or  dancing 
idiotically  to  the  uncomprehended  mu 
sic  of  some  stranger's  pipe?  We  often 
say  of  one  whom  we  wish  to  hlame 
slightly  and  to  half  excuse,  "He  is  only 
thoughtless."  But  there  is  no  deeper 
word  of  censure  and  reproach  in  human 
speech,  for  it  signifies  one  who  has  re 
nounced  a  rightful  dominion  and  de 
spised  a  kingly  diadem. 

The  great  dream  of  education  as  a 
loyalist  of  the  democracy  is  that  "the 
king  shall  have  his  own  again" — that 
no  prince  or  princess  of  the  blood  royal 
of  humanity  shall  be  self-exiled  in  the 
desert  of  thoughtlessness  or  chained  in 

[242] 


J 

CREATIVE   EDUCATION 

the  slavery  of  ignorance.  A  lofty 
dream,  a  distant  dream,  it  may  be,  but 
the  only  way  toward  its  fulfilment  lies 
through  the  awakening  of  the  reason. 
Not  to  leave  the  people  in  a  dull  servi 
tude  of  groping  instincts,  while  the 
*  chosen  few  look  down  on  them  from  the 
cold  heights  of  philosophy;  but  to  dif 
fuse  through  all  the  ranks  of  society  an 
ever-increasing  light  of  quiet,  steady 
thought  on  the  meaning  and  the  laws 
of  life — that  is  the  democratic  ideal. 
Slowly  or  swiftly  we  may  work  tpward 
it,  but  only  along  that  line  will  the  peo 
ple  win  their  heritage  and  keep  it:  the 
power  of  self-rule,  through  self-knowl 
edge,  for  the  good  of  all. 

But  one  more  factor  is  included  in  the 
creative  ideal  of  education,  and  that  is 
its  effect  upon  the  will.  The  power  to 
see  clearly,  to  imagine  vividly,  to  think 
independently,  will  certainly  be  wasted, 

[243] 


CREATIVE    EDUCATION 

will  be  shut  up  in  the  individual  and 
kept  for  his  own  selfish  delight,  unless 
the  power  to  will  nobly  comes  to  call 
the  man  into  action  and  gives  him,  with 
all  his  education,  to  the  service  of  the 
world. 

An  educated  man  is  helpless  until  he  * 
is  emancipated.  An  emancipated  man  is 
aimless  until  he  is  consecrated.  Conse 
cration  is  simply  concentration,  plus  a 
sense  of  duty. 

The  final  result  of  true  education  is 
not  a  selfish  scholar,  nor  a  scornful  critic 
of  the  universe,  but  an  intelligent  and 
faithful  citizen  who  is  determined  to 
put  all  his  powers  at  the  service  of  his 
country  and  mankind. 

What  part  are  our  colleges  and  uni 
versities  to  play  in  the  realizing  of  this 
ideal  of  creative  education?  Their  true 
function  is  not  exclusive,  but  inclusive. 
They  are  to  hold  this  standard  of  man- 

[244] 


CREATIVE   EDUCATION 

hood  steadily  before  them,  and  recog 
nize  its  supreme  and  universal  value 
wherever  it  is  found. 

Some  of  the  most  thoughtful  men  in 
the  country  have  not  been  college-bred. 
The  university  that  assumes  to  look 
down  on  these  men  is  false  to  its  own 
ideal.  It  should  honour  them,  and  learn 
from  them  whatever  they  have  to  teach* 
College  education  is  not  to  be  separated 
from  the  educative  work  which  per 
vades  the  whole  social  organism.  What 
we  need  at  present  is  not  new  colleges 
with  a  power  of  conferring  degrees, 
but  more  power  in  the  existing  colleges 
to  make  men.  To  this  end  let  them  have 
a  richer  endowment,  a  fuller  equip 
ment,  but,  above  all,  a  revival  of  the 
creative  ideal.  And  let  everything  be 
done  to  bring  together  the  high  school, 
the  normal  school,  the  grammar  school, 
the  primary  school,  and  the  little-red- 

[245] 


CREATIVE    EDUCATION 

schoolhouse  school,  in  the  harmony  of 
this  ideal.  The  university  shall  still 
stand  in  the  place  of  honour,  if  you  will, 
but  only  because  it  bears  the  clearest 
and  most  steadfast  witness  that  the  end 
of  education  is  to  create  men  who  can 
see  clearly,  imagine  vividly,  think  stead 
ily,  and  will  nobly. 


[246] 


XII 
THE    SCHOOL    OF   LIFE 

MANY  fine  things  have  been  said 
in  commencement  addresses  about 
"Culture  and  Progress,"  "The  Higher 
Learning,"  "American  Scholarship," 
"The  University  Spirit,"  "The  Wom 
an's  College,"  and  other  subjects  bear 
ing  on  the  relation  of  education  to  life. 
But  the  most  important  thing,  after 
all, — the  thing  which  needs  not  only  to 
be  said,  but  also  to  be  understood, — is 
that  life  itself  is  the  great  school. 

This  whole  framework  of  things  vis 
ible  and  invisible  wherein  we  mysteri 
ously  find  ourselves  perceiving,  reason 
ing,  reflecting,  desiring,  choosing,  and 

[247] 


THE   SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

acting,  is  designed  and  fitted,  so  far 
at  least  as  it  concerns  us  and  reveals 
itself  to  us,  to  be  a  place  of  training 
and  enlightenment  for  the  human  race 
through  the  unfolding  and  develop 
ment  of  human  persons  such  as  you 
and  me. 

For  no  other  purpose  are  these  won 
drous  potencies  of  perception  and  emo 
tion,  thought  and  will,  housed  within 
walls  of  flesh  and  shut  in  by  doors  of 
sense,  but  that  we  may  learn  to  set  them 
free  and  lead  them  out.  For  no  other 
purpose  are  we  beset  with  attractions 
and  repulsions,  obstacles  and  allure 
ments,  tasks,  duties,  pleasures,  persons, 
books,  machines,  plants,  animals,  houses, 
forests,  storm  and  sunshine,  water  fresh 
and  salt,  fire  wild  and  tame,  a  various 
earth,  a  mutable  heaven,  and  an  intri 
cate  humanity,  but  that  we  may  be  in 
structed  in  the  nature  of  things  and 

[248] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

people,  and  rise  by  knowledge  and  sym 
pathy,  through  gradual  and  secret  pro 
motions,  into  a  fuller  and  finer  life. 

Facts  are  teachers.  Experiences  are 
lessons.  Friends  are^uides.  Work  is  a 
master.  Love  is  an  interpreter.  Teach 
ing  itself  is  a  method  of  learning.  Joy 
carries  a  divining  rod  and  discovers 
fountains.  Sorrow  is  an  astronomer  and 
shows  us  the  stars. 

What  I  have  lived  I  really  know,  and 
what  I  really  know  I  partly  own;  and 
so,  begirt  with  what  I  know  and  what 
I  own,  I  move  through  my  curriculum, 
elective  and  required,  gaining  nothing 
but  what  I  learn,  at  once  instructed 
and  examined  by  every  duty  and  every 
pleasure. 

It  is  a  mistake  to  say,  "To-day  educa 
tion  ends,  to-morrow  life  begins."  The 
process  is  continuous:  the  idea  into  the 
purpose,  the  purpose  into  the  action, 

[249] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

the  action  into  the  character.  When 
the  mulberry  seed  falls  into  the  ground 
and  germinates,  it  begins  to  be  trans 
formed  into  silk. 

This  view  of  life,  as  a  process  of  edu 
cation  was  held  by  the  Greeks  and  the 
Hebrews — the  two  races  in  whose  deep 
hearts  the  stream  of  modern  progress 
takes  its  rise,  the  two  great  races  whose 
energy  of  spirit  and  strength  of  self- 
restraint  have  kept  the  world  from 
sinking  into  the  dream-lit  torpor  of  the 
mystic  East,  or  whirling  into  the  blind, 
restless  activity  of  the  barbarian  West. 

What  is  it  but  the  idea  of  the  school 
of  life  that  sings  through  the  words  of 
the  Hebrew  psalmist?  "1  will  instruct 
thee  and  teach  thee  in  the  way  which 
thou  shalt  go.  I  will  guide  thee  with 
mine  eye.  Be  ye  not  as  the  horse  or  as 
the  mule,  whose  mouth  must  be  held  in 
with  bit  and  bridle  lest  they  come  near 

[250] 


THE   SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

unto  thee."  This  warning  against  the 
mulish  attitude  which  turns  life  into  a 
process  of  punishment,  this  praise  of 
the  eye-method  which  is  the  triumph 
of  teaching — these  are  the  notes  of  a 
wonderful  and  world- wide  school. 

It  is  the  same  view  of  life  that  shines 
through  Plato's  noble  words:  "This 
then  must  be  our  notion  of  the  just 
man,  that  even  when  he  is  in  poverty 
or  sickness,  or  any  other  seeming  mis 
fortune,  all  things  will  in  the  end  work 
together  for  good  to  him  in  life  and 
death ;  for  the  gods  have  a  care  of  any 
one  whose  desire  is  to  become  just,  and 
to  be  like  God,  as  far  as  man  can  attain 
his  likeness  by  the  pursuit  of  virtue." 

Not  always,  indeed,  did  the  Greek  use 
so  strong  an  ethical  emphasis.  For  him 
the  dominant  idea  was  the  unfolding 
of  reason,  the  clarifying  of  the  powers 
of  thought  and  imagination.  His  ideal 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

man  was  one  who  saw  things  as  they 
are,  and  understood  their  nature,  and 
felt  beauty,  and  followed  truth. 

It  was  the  Hebrew  who  laid  the  heavi 
er  stress  upon  the  conception  of  right 
eousness.  The  foundations  of  his  school 
were  the  tablets  on  which  the  divine 
laws,  "Thou  shalt"  and  "Thou  shalt 
not,"  were  inscribed.  The  ideal  of  his 
education  was  the  power  to  distinguish 
between  good  and  evil,  and  the  will  to 
choose  the  good,  and  the  strength  to 
stand  by  it.  Life,  to  his  apprehension, 
fulfilled  its  purpose  in  the  development 
of  a  man  who  walked  uprightly  and 
kept  the  commandments. 

Thus  these  two  master-races  of  an 
tiquity,  alike  in  their  apprehension  of 
existence  from  the  .standpoint  of  the 
soul,  worked  out  their  thought  of  vital 
education,  along  the  lines  of  different 
temperaments,  to  noble  results.  ^Eschy- 

[252] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

lus  and  Ezekiel  lived  in  the  same  cen 
tury. 

Reason  and  Righteousness:  what  more 
can  the  process  of  life  do  to  justify 
itself  than  to  unfold  these  two  splendid 
flowers  on  the  tree  of  our  humanity? 
What  third  idea  is  there  that  the  third 
great  race,  the  Anglo-Saxon,  may  con 
ceive,  and  cherish,  and  bring  to  blossom 
and  fruition? 

There  is  only  one — the  idea  of  Ser 
vice.  Too  much  the  sweet  reasonable 
ness  of  the  Greek  ideal  tended  to  fos 
ter  an  intellectual  isolation;  too  much 
the  strenuous  righteousness  of  the  He 
brew  ideal  gave  shelter  to  the  microbe 
of  Pharisaism.  It  was  left  for  the  An 
glo-Saxon  race,  quickened  by  the  new 
word  and  the  new  life  of  a  divine 
Teacher,  to  claim  for  the  seed  an  equal 
glory  with  the  flower  and  the  fruit;  to 
perceive  that  righteousness  is  not  rea- 

[253] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

sonable,  and  reason  is  not  righteous, 
unless  they  are  both  communicable  and 
serviceable;  to  say  that  the  highest  re 
sult  of  our  human  experience  is  to  bring 
forth  better  men  and  women,  able  and 
willing  to  give  of  that  which  makes 
them  better  to  the  world  in  which  they 
live. 

This  is  the  ultimate  word  concern 
ing  the  school  of  life.  I  catch  its  inspir 
ing  note  in  the  question  of  that  very 
noble  gentleman,  Sir  Philip  Sidney, 
who  said:  "To  what  purpose  should  our 
thoughts  be  directed  to  various  kinds 
of  knowledge,  unless  room  be  afforded 
for  putting  it  into  practice,  so  that 
public  advantage  may  be  the  result?" 
These  then  are  what  the  education  of 
life  is  to  bring  out — Reason,  Right 
eousness,  and  Service. 

But  if  life  itself  be  the  school,  what 
becomes  of  our  colleges  and  universi- 

[254] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

ties?  They  are,  or  they  ought  to  be, 
simply  preparatory  institutions  to  fit  us 
to  go  on  with  our  education.  Not  what 
do  they  teach,  but  how  do  they  prepare 
us  to  learn — that  is  the  question.  I 
measure  a  college  not  by  the  height  of 
its  towers,  nor  by  the  length  of  its  ex 
amination  papers,  nor  by  the  pride  of 
its  professors,  but  chiefly  by  the  docility 
of  its  graduates.  I  do  not  ask,  Where 
did  you  leave  off?  but,  Are  you  ready 
to  go  on?  Graduation  is  not  a  stepping 
out;  it  is  either  a  stepping  up — gradu 
ad  gradum — a  promotion  to  a  higher 
class,  or  a  dropping  to  a  lower  one.  The 
cause  for  which  a  student  is  dropped 
may  be  invincible  ignorance,  incurable 
frivolity,  or  obstructive  and  constrictive 
learning. 

"One  of  the  benefits  of  a  college  edu 
cation,"  says  Emerson,  "is  to  show  a 
boy  its  little  avail."  Hamilton  and  Jef- 

[255] 


THE   SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

ferson  and  Madison  and  Adams  and 
Webster  were  college  men.  But  Frank 
lin,  Washington,  Marshall,  Clay,  and 
Lincoln  were  not. 

A  college  education  is  good  for  those 
who  can  digest  it.  The  academic  atmos 
phere  has  its  dangers,  of  which  the 
greatest  are  a  certain  illusion  of  infalli 
bility,  a  certain  fever  of  intellectual 
jealousy,  and  a  certain  dry  idolatry  of 
schedules  and  programmes.  But  these 
infirmities  hardly  touch  the  mass  of 
students,  busy  as  they  are  nowadays 
with  their  athletics,  their  societies,  their 
youthful  pleasures.  The  few  who  are 
affected  more  seriously  are  usually 
cured  by  contact  with  the  larger  world. 
Most  of  the  chronic  cases  occur  among 
those  who  really  never  leave  the  pre 
paratory  institution,  but  pass  from  the 
class  to  the  instructor's  seat,  and  from 
that  to  the  professorial  chair,  and  so 

[256] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

along  the  spiral,  bounded  ever  by  the 
same  curve  and  steadily  narrowing  in 
ward. 

Specialists  we  must  have;  and  to-day 
we  are  told  that  a  successful  specialist 
must  give  his  whole  life  to  the  study 
of  the  viscosity  of  electricity,  or  the 
value  of  the  participial  infinitive,  or 
some  such  pin-point  of  concentration. 
For  this  a  secluded  and  cloistered  life 
may  be  necessary.  But  let  us  have  room 
also  in  vour  colleges  for  teachers  who 
have  been  out  in  the  world,  and  touched 
life  on  different  sides,  and  taken  part 
in  various  labours,  and  been  buffeted, 
and  learned  how  other  men  live,  and 
what  troubles  them,  and  what  they 
need.  Great  is  the  specialist,  and  pre 
cious;  but  I  think  we  still  have  a  use 
for  masters  of  the  old  type,  who  knew 
many  things,  and  were  broadened  by 
experience,  and  had  the  power  of  vital 

[257] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

inspiration,  and  could  start  their  pupils 
on  and  up  through  the  struggles  and 
triumphs  of  a  lifelong  education. 

There  is  much  discussion  nowadays  of 
the  subjects  which  may  be,  or  must  be, 
taught  in  a  college.  A  part,  at  least, 
of  the  controversy  is  futile.  For  the 
main  problem  is  not  one  of  subjects, 
but  of  aim  and  method.  "Liberal  stud 
ies,"  says  Professor  S.  H.  Butcher,  one 
of  the  finest  living  teachers  of  Greek, 
"pursued  in  an  illiberal  spirit,  fall  be 
low  the  mechanical  arts  in  dignity  and 
worth."  There  are  two  ways  of  teach 
ing  any  subject:  one  opens  the  mind, 
the  other  closes  it. 

The  mastery  of  the  way  to  do  things 
is  the  accomplishment  that  counts  for 
future  work.  I  like  the  teacher  who 
shows  me  not  merely  where,  he  stands, 
but  how  he  got  there,  and  who  encour 
ages  and  equips  me  to  find  my  own 

[258] 


THE   SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

path  through  the  maze  of  books  and 
the  tangled  thickets  of  human  opinion. 
Let  us  keep  our  colleges  and  univer 
sities  true  to  their  function,  which  is 
preparatory  and  not  final.  Let  us  not 
ask  of  them  a  yearly  output  of  "fin 
ished  scholars."  The  very  phrase  has  a 
mortuary  sound,  like  an  epitaph.  He 
who  can  learn  no  more  has  not  really 
learned  anything.  What  we  want  is 
not  finished  scholars,  but  well-equipped 
learners ;  minds  that  can  give  and  take ; 
intellects  not  cast  in  ajnpiild,  bi]t  *yipg- 
ters  of  a  method ;  people  who  are  ready 
io  go  forward  wisely  toward  a  larger 


The  chief  benefit  that  a  good  student 
may  get  in  a  good  college  is  not  a 
definite  amount  of  Greek  and  Latin, 
mathematics  and  chemistry,  botany  and 
zoology,  history  and  logic,  though  this 
in  itself  is  good.  But  far  better  is  the 

[259] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

\power  to  apprehend  and  distinguish, 
/to  weigh  evidence  and  interpret  facts, 
to  think  clearly,  to  infer  carefully,  to 
imagine  vividly.  Best  of  all  is  a  sense 
of  the  unity  of  knowledge,  a  reverence 
for  the  naked  truth,  a  perception  of 
the  variety  of  beauty,  a  feeling  of  the 
significance  of  literature,  and  a  wider 
sympathy  with  the  upward-striving, 
dimly  groping,  perplexed  and  daunt 
less  life  of  man. 

I  will  not  ask  whether  such  a  result 
of  college  training  has  any  commercial 
value,  whether  it  enables  one  to  com 
mand  a  larger  wage  in  the  market 
place,  whether  it  opens  the  door  to 
wealth,  or  fame,  or  social  distinction; 
nor  even  whether  it  increases  the  chance 
of  winning  a  place  in  the  red  book  of 
Who's  Who.  These  questions  are  trea 
sonable  to  the  very  idea  of  education, 
which  aims  not  at  a  marketable  prod- 

[260] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

uct,  but  at  a  vital  development.  The 
one  thing  certain  and  important  is  that 
those  who  are  wisely  and  liberally  dis 
ciplined  and  enlightened  in  any  college 
enter  the  school  of  life  with  an  advan 
tage.  They  are  "well  prepared,"  as  we 
say.  They  are  fitted  to  go  on  with  their 
education  in  reason  and  righteousness 
and  service  under  the  great  Master. 

I  do  not  hold  with  the  modern  epi 
gram  that  "the  true  university  is  a 
library."  Through  the  vast  wilderness 
of  books  flows  the  slender  stream  of 
literature,  and  often  there  is  need  of 
guidance  to  find  and  follow  it.  Only  a 
genius  or  an  angel  can  safely  be  turned 
loose  in  a  library  to  wander  at  will. 
Nothing  is  more  offensive  than  the 
complacent  illusion  of  omniscience  be 
gotten  in  an  ignorant  person  by  the 
haphazard  reading  of  a  few  volumes  of 
philosophy  or  science. 

[261] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

There  is  a  certain  kind  of  reading  that 
is  little  better  than  an  idle  habit,  a  sub 
stitute  for  thought.  Of  many  books  it 
may  be  said  that  they  are  nothing  but 
the  echoes  of  echoing  echoes.  If  a  good 
book  be  as  Milton  said,  "the  precious 
life-blood  of  a  master-spirit,  embalmed 
and  treasured,"  still  the  sacred  relic,  as 
in  the  phial  of  St.  Januarius  at  Naples, 
remains  solid  and  immovable.  It  needs 
a  kind  of  miracle  to  make  it  liquefy  and 
flow — the  miracle  of  interpretation  and 
inspiration — wrought  most  often  by 
the  living  voice  of  a  wise  master,  and 
communicating  to  the  young  heart  the 
wonderful  secret  that  some  books  are 
alive.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  miracle 
wrought  for  me  by  the  reading  of  Mil 
ton's  Comus  by  my  father  in  his  book- 
lined  study  on  Brooklyn  Heights,  and 
of  Cicero's  Letters  by  Professor  Pack 
ard  in  the  Latin  class  at  old  Princeton. 

[262] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

The  Greeks  learned  the  alphabet  from 
the  Phoenicians.  But  the  Phoenicians 
used  it  for  contracts,  deeds,  bills  of 
lading,  and  accounts;  the  Greeks  for 
poetry  and  philosophy.  Contracts  and 
accounts,  of  all  kinds,  are  for  filing. 
Literature  is  of  one  kind  only,  the  in 
terpretation  of  life  and  nature  through 
the  imagination  in  clear  and  personal 
words  of  power  and  charm.  And  this  is 
for  reading. 

To  get  the  good  of  the  library  in  the 
school  of  life  you  must  bring  into  it 
something  better  than  a  mere  bookish 
taste.  You  must  bring  the  power  to 
read,  between  the  lines,  behind  the 
words,  beyond  the  horizon  of  the 
printed  page.  Philip's  question  to  the 
chamberlain  of  Ethiopia  was  crucial: 
"Understandest  thou  what  thou  read- 
est?" 

I  want  books  not  to  pass  the  time, 

[263] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

but  to  fill  it  with  beautiful  thoughts 
and  images,  to  enlarge  my  world,  to 
give  me  new  friends  in  the  spirit,  to 
purify  my  ideals  and  make  them  clear, 
to  show  me  the  local  colour  of  un 
known  regions  and  the  bright  stars  of 
universal  truth. 

Time  is  wasted  if  we  read  too  much 
looking-glass  fiction,  books  about  our 
own  class  and  place  and  period,  stories 
of  American  college  life,  society  novels, 
tales  in  which  our  own  conversation  is 
repeated  and  our  own  prejudices  are 
embodied — Kodak  prints,  Gramophone 
cylinders!  I  prefer  the  real  voice,  the 
visible  face,  things  which  I  can  see  and 
hear  for  myself  without  waiting  for 
Miss  Arabella  Tompkins'  report  of 
them.  When  I  read,  I  wish  to  go 
abroad,  to  hear  new  messages,  to  meet 
new  people,  to  get  a  fresh  point  of 
view,  to  revisit  other  ages,  to  listen  to 

[264] 


THE   SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

the  oracles  of  Delphi  and  drink  deep  of 
the  springs  of  Pieria.  The  only  writer 
who  can  tell  me  anything  of  real  value 
about  my  familiar  environment  is  the 
genius  who  shows  me  that  after  all  it 
is  not  familiar,  but  strange,  wonderful, 
crowded  with  secrets  unguessed  and 
possibilities  unrealized. 

The  two  things  best  worth  reading 
about  in  poetry  and  fiction  are  the  sym 
bols  of  nature  and  the  passions  of  the 
human  heart.  I  want  also  an  essayist 
who  will  clarify  life  by  gentle  illumina 
tion  and  lambent  humour;  a  philoso 
pher  who  will  help  me  to  see  the  reason 
of  things  apparently  unreasonable;  a 
historian  who  will  show  me  how  peoples 
have  risen  and  fallen ;  and  a  biographer 
who  will  let  me  touch  the  hand  of  the 
great  and  the  good.  This  is  the  magic 
of  literature.  This  is  how  real  books 
help  to  educate  us  in  the  school  of  life. 

[265] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

There  is  no  less  virtue,  but  rather 
more,  in  events,  tasks,  duties,  obliga 
tions,  than  there  is  in  books.  Work  it 
self  has  a  singular  power  to  unfold  and 
develop  our  nature.  The  difference  is 
not  between  working  people  and  think 
ing  people,  but  between  people  who 
work  without  thinking  and  people  who 
think  while  they  work. 

What  is  it  that  you  have  to  do?  To 
weave  cloth,  to  grow  fruit,  to  sell  bread, 
to  make  a  fire,  to  prepare  food,  to 
nurse  the  sick,  to  keep  house?  It  mat 
ters  not.  Your  task  brings  you  the  first 
lesson  of  reason — that  you  must  deal 
with  things  as  they  are,  not  as  you  im 
agine  or  desire  them  to  be.  Wet  wood 
will  not  burn.  Fruit  trees  must  have 
sunshine.  Heavy  bread  will  not  sell. 
Sick  people  have  whims.  Empty  cup 
boards  yield  no  dinners.  The  house  will 
not  keep  itself.  Platitudes,  no  doubt; 

[266] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

but  worth  more  for  education  than 
many  a  metaphysical  theory  or  roman 
tic  dream.  For  when  we  face  these 
things  and  realize  their  meaning,  they 
lead  us  out  of  the  folly  of  trying  to  live 
in  such  a  world  as  we  would  like  it  to  be, 
and  make  us  live  in  the  world  which  is. 

The  mystic  visions  of  the  dreamy 
Orient  are  a  splendid  pageant.  But  for 
guidance  I  follow  a  teacher  like  Soc 
rates,  whose  gods  were  too  noble  to 
deceive  or  masquerade,  whose  world 
was  a  substantial  embodiment  of  divine 
ideas,  and  whose  men  and  women  were 
not  playthings  of  Fate  or  Chance,  but 
living  souls,  working,  struggling,  fight 
ing  their  way  to  victory. 

I  do  not  wish  to  stay  with  the  nurse 
and  hear  fairy  tales.  I  prefer  to  enter 
the  school  of  life.  In  the  presence  of  the 
mysteries  of  pain  and  suffering,  under 
the  pressure  of  disaster  or  disease,  I 

[267] 


THE   SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

turn  not  for  counsel  to  some  Scythian 
soothsayer  with  her  dark  incantations 
and  her  vague  assurances  that  the  evil 
will  vanish  if  I  only  close  my  eyes,  but 
to  such  a  calm,  wise  teacher  as  Hippoc 
rates,  who  says:  "As  for  me,  I  think 
that  these  maladies  are  divine,  like  all 
others,  but  that  none  is  more  divine  or 
more  human  than  another.  Each  has 
its  natural  principle,  and  none  exists 
without  its  natural  cause." 

This  is  intellectual  fortitude.  And 
fortitude  is  the  sentinel  and  guardian 
virtue;  without  it  all  other  virtues  are 
in  peril.  Daring  is  inborn,  and  often 
born  blind.  But  fortitude  is  implanted, 
nurtured,  unfolded  in  the  school  of  life. 

I  praise  the  marvellous  courage  of  the 
human  heart,  enduring  evils,  facing 
perplexities,  overcoming  obstacles,  ris 
ing  after  a  hundred  falls,  building  up 
what  gravity  pulls  down,  toiling  at 

[268] 


THE   SCHOOL  OF   LIFE 

tasks  never  finished,  relighting  extin 
guished  fires,  and  hoping  all  things. 
I  like  not  the  implication  of  Byron's 
line — "fair  women  and  brave  men" — 
for  women  are  not  less  brave  than  men, 
but  often  more  brave,  though  in  a  dif 
ferent  way.  Life  itself  takes  them  in 
hand,  these  delicate  and  gracious  creat 
ures;  and  if  they  are  worthy  and  will 
ing,  true  scholars  of  experience,  edu 
cates  them  in  a  heroism  of  the  heart 
which  suffers  all  the  more  splendidly 
because  it  is  sensitive,  and  conquers 
fear  all  the  more  gloriously  because  it 
is  timorous. 

The  obstinacy  of  the  materials  with 
which  we  have  to  deal,  in  all  kinds  of 
human  work,  has  an  educational  value. 
Someone  has  called  it  "the  total  deprav 
ity  of  inanimate  things."  The  phrase 
would  be  fit  if  depravity  could  be  con 
ceived  of  as  beneficent. 

[269] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

No  doubt  a  world  in  which  matter 
never  got  out  of  place  and  became  dirt, 
in  which  iron  had  no  flaws  and  wood  no 
cracks,  in  which  gardens  had  no  weeds 
and  food  grew  ready  cooked,  in  which 
clothes  never  wore  out  and  washing  was 
as  easy  as  the  soap-makers'  advertise 
ments  describe  it,  in  which  rules  had 
no  exceptions,  and  things  never  went 
wrong,  would  be  a  much  easier  place  to 
live  in.  But  for  purposes  of  training 
and  development  it  would  be  worth 
nothing  at  all. 

It  is  the  resistance  that  puts  us  on  our 
mettle:  it  is  the  conquest  of  the  reluc 
tant  stuff  that  educates  the  worker.  I 
wish  you  enough  difficulties  to  keep  you 
well  and  make  you  strong  and  skilful! 

No  one  can  get  the  full  benefit  of  the 
school  of  life  who  does  not  welcome  the 
silent  and  deep  instruction  of  nature. 
This  earth  on  which  we  live,  these  heav- 

[270] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

ens  above  us,  these  dumb  companions 
of  our  work  and  play,  this  wondrous  liv 
ing  furniture  and  blossoming  drapery 
of  our  school-room — all  have  their  les 
sons  to  impart.  But  they  will  not  teach 
swiftly  and  suddenly;  they  will  not  let 
us  master  their  meaning  in  a  single 
course,  or  sum  it  all  up  in  a  single 
treatise.  Slowly,  gradually,  with  infinite 
reserves,  with  delicate  confidences,  as  if 
they  would  prolong  their  instruction 
that  we  may  not  forsake  their  compan 
ionship,  they  yield  up  their  significance 
to  the  student  who  loves  them. 

The  scientific  study  of  nature  is 
often  commended  on  merely  practical 
grounds.  I  would  honour  and  praise  it 
for  higher  reasons — for  its  power  to 
train  the  senses  in  the  habit  of  veracious 
observation;  for  its  corrective  influence 
upon  the  audacity  of  a  logic  which 
would  attempt  to  evolve  the  camel  from 

[271] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

the  inner  consciousness  of  a  philoso 
pher;  for  its  steadying,  quieting  effect 
upon  the  mind.  Poets  have  indulged 
too  often  in  supercilious  sneers  at  the 
man  of  science,  the  natural  philoso 
pher — 

"a  fingering  slave, 
One  that  would  peep  and  botanize 
Upon  his  mother's  grave." 

The  contempt  is  ill  founded;  the  sneer 
is  indiscriminate.  It  is  as  if  one  should 
speak  of  the  poet  as — 

A  man  of  trifling  breath, 
One  that  would  flute  and  sonneteer 
About  his  sweetheart's  death. 

Is  there  any  more  danger  of  narrow 
ing  the  mind  by  the  patient  scrutiny  of 
plants  and  birds  than  by  the  investiga 
tion  of  ancient  documents  and  annals, 
or  the  study  of  tropes,  metaphors,  and 
metres?  Is  it  only  among  men  of  science 
that  we  find  pettiness,  and  irascibility, 

[272] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

and  domineering  omniscience,  or  do 
they  sometimes  occur  among  historians 
and  poets?  It  seems  to  me  that  there  are 
no  more  serene  and  admirable  intelli 
gences  than  those  which  are  often  found 
among  the  true  naturalists.  How  fine 
and  enviable  is  their  life-long  pursuit 
of  their  chosen  subject.  What  mind 
could  be  happier  in  its  kingdom  than 
that  of  an  Agassiz  or  a  Guyot?  What 
life  more  beautiful  and  satisfying  than 
that  of  a  Linnaeus  or  an  Audubon? 

But  for  most  of  us  these  advanced 
courses  in  natural  science  are  impossi 
ble.  What  we  must  content  ourselves 
with  is  not  really  worthy  to  be  called 
nature-study;  it  is  simply  nature-kin 
dergarten.  We  learn  a  little  about  the 
movements  of  the  stars  and  clouds;  a 
few  names  of  trees  and  flowers  and 
birds ;  some  of  the  many  secrets  of  their 
life  and  growth;  just  the  words  of  one 

[273] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

syllable,  that  is  all.  And  then  if  we  are 
wise  and  teachable,  we  walk  with  Nat 
ure,  and  let  her  breathe  into  our  hearts 
those  lessons  of  humility,  and  patience, 
and  confidence,  and  good  cheer,  and 
tranquil  resignation,  and  temperate 
joy,  which  are  her  "moral  lore" — les 
sons  which  lead  her  scholars  onward 
through  a  merry  youth,  and  a  strong 
maturity,  and  a  serene  old  age,  and  pre 
pare  them  by  the  pure  companionship 
of  this  world  for  the  enjoyment  of  a 
better. 

The  social  environment,  the  human 
contact  in  all  its  forms,  plays  a  large 
part  in  the  school  of  life.  "The  city  in 
structs  men,"  said  Simonides. 

Conversation  is  an  exchange  of  ideas: 
this  is  what  distinguishes  it  from  gos 
sip  and  chatter.  The  organization  of 
work,  the  division  of  labour,  implies 
and  should  secure  a  mutual  education 

[274] 


THE   SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

of  the  workers.  Some  day,  when  this 
is  better  understood,  the  capitalist  will 
be  enlightened  and  the  labour-union 
civilized. 

Even  the  vexed  problem  of  domestic 
service  is  capable  of  yielding  educa 
tional  results  to  those  who  are  busy 
with  it.  The  mistress  may  learn  some 
thing  of  the  nature  of  fair  dealing,  the 
responsibilities  of  command,  the  essen 
tial  difference  between  a  carpet-sweep 
ing  machine  and  the  girl  who  pushes  it. 
The  servant  may  learn  something  of 
the  dignity  of  doing  any  kind  of  work 
well,  the  virtue  of  self-respecting  obe 
dience,  and  the  sweet  reasonableness  of 
performing  the  task  that  is  paid  for. 

I  do  not  think  much  of  the  analogy 
between  human  society  and  the  bee-hive 
or  the  ant-hill,  which  certain  writers 
are  now  elaborating  in  subtle  symbolist 
fashion.  It  passes  over  and  ignores 

(275] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

the  vital  problem  which  is  ever  press 
ing  upon  us  humans — the  problem  of 
reconciling  personal  claims  with  the 
claims  of  the  race.  Among  the  bees  and 
the  ants,  so  far  as  we  can  see,  the  com 
munity  is  all,  the  individual  is  nothing. 
There  are  no  personal  aspirations  to 
suppress;  no  conscious  conflicts  of  duty 
and  desire;  no  dreams  of  a  better  kind 
of  hive,  a  new  and  perfected  formicary. 
It  is  only  to  repeat  themselves,  to  keep 
the  machine  going,  to  reproduce  the 
same  hive,  the  same  ant-hill,  that  these 
perfect  communisms  blindly  strive.  But 
human  society  is  less  perfect,  and 
therefore  more  promising.  The  highest 
achievements  of  humanity  come  from 
something  which,  so  far  as  we  know, 
bees  and  ants  do  not  possess:  the  sense 
of  imperfection,  the  desire  of  advance. 
Ideals  must  be  personal  before  they 
can  become  communal.  It  was  not  until 

[276] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

the  rights  of  the  individual  were  per 
ceived  and  recognized,  including  the 
right  to  the  pursuit  of  happiness,  that 
the  vision  of  a  free  and  noble  state, 
capable  of  progress,  dawned  upon  man 
kind. 

Life  teaches  all  but  the  obstinate  and 
mean  how  to  find  a  place  in  such  a  state 
and  grow  therein.  A  true  love  of  others 
is  the  counterpart  of  a  right  love  of 
self;  that  is,  a  love  for  the  better  part, 
the  finer,  nobler  self,  the  man  that  is 

"to  arise  in  me, 
That  the  man  that  I  am  may  cease  to  be." 

Individualism  is  a  fatal  poison.  But 
individuality  is  the  salt  of  common  life. 
You  may  have  to  live  in  a  crowd,  but 
you  do  not  have  to  live  like  it,  nor  sub 
sist  on  its  food.  You  may  have  your 
own  orchard.  You  may  drink  at  a  hid 
den  spring.  Be  yourself  if  you  would 
serve  others. 

[277] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

Learn  also  how  to  appraise  criticism, 
to  value  enmity,  to  get  the  good  of  be 
ing  blamed  and  evil  spoken  of.  A  soft 
social  life  is  not  likely  to  be  very  noble. 
You  can  hardly  tell  whether  your  faiths 
and  feelings  are  real  until  they  are  at 
tacked. 

But  take  care  that  you  defend  them 
with  an  open  mind  and  by  right  reason. 
You  are  entitled  to  a  point  of  view,  but 
not  to  announce  it  as  the  centre  of  the 
universe.  Prejudice,  more  than  any 
thing  else,  robs  life  of  its  educational 
value.  I  knew  a  man  who  maintained 
that  the  chief  obstacle  to  the  triumph 
of  Christianity  was  the  practice  of  in 
fant  baptism.  I  heard  a  woman  say  that 
no  one  who  ate  with  his  knife  could  be 
a  gentleman.  Hopeless  scholars  these! 

What  we  call  society  is  very  narrow. 
But  life  is  very  broad.  It  includes  "the 
whole  world  of  God's  cheerful,  fallible 

[278] 


THE   SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

men  and  women."  It  is  not  only  the  fa 
mous  people  and  the  well-dressed  peo 
ple  who  are  worth  meeting.  It  is  every 
one  who  has  something  to  communicate. 
The  scholar  has  something  to  say  to  me, 
if  he  be  still  alive.  But  I  would  hear 
also  the  traveller,  the  manufacturer,  the 
soldier,  the  good  workman,  the  forester, 
the  village  school-teacher,  the  nurse,  the 
quiet  observer,  the  unspoiled  child,  the 
skilful  housewife.  I  knew  an  old  Ger 
man  woman,  living  in  a  city  tenement, 
who  said:  "My  heart  is  a  little  garden, 
and  God  is  planting  flowers  there." 

"ZZ  faut  cultiver  son  jardin" — yes,  but 
not  only  that.  One  should  learn  also  to 
enjoy  the  neighbour's  garden,  however 
small;  the  roses  straggling  over  the 
fence,  the  scent  of  lilacs  drifting  across 
the  road. 

There  is  a  great  complaint  nowadays 
about  the  complication  of  life,  espe- 

[279] 


THE   SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

cially  in  its  social  and  material  aspects, 
It  is  bewildering,  confusing,  over 
straining.  It  destroys  the  temper  of 
tranquillity  necessary  to  education.  The 
simple  life  is  recommended,  and  right 
ly,  as  a  refuge  from  this  trouble. 

But  perhaps  we  need  to  understand  a 
little  more  clearly  what  simplicity  is.  It 
does  not  consist  merely  in  low  ceilings, 
loose  garments,  and  the  absence  of  bric- 
a-brac.  Life  may  be  conventional  and 
artificial  in  a  log  cabin.  Philistines  have 
their  prejudices,  and  the  etiquette  of 
the  cotton-mill  is  often  as  absurd  and 
burdensome  as  that  of  the  manor-house. 

A  little  country  town,  with  its  inflexible 
social  traditions,  its  petty  animosities 
and  jealousies,  its  obstinate  mistrust  of 
all  that  is  strange,  and  its  crude  gossip 
about  all  that  it  cannot  comprehend, 
with  its  sensitive  self-complacency,  and 
its  subtle  convolutions  of  parish  poli- 

[280] 


THE   SCHOOL  OF   LIFE 

tics,  and  its  rivalries  on  a  half-inch 
scale,  may  be  as  complicated  and  as 
hard  to  live  in  as  great  Babylon  itself. 
Simplicity,  in  truth,  depends  but  lit 
tle  on  external  things.  It  can  live  in 
broadcloth  or  homespun;  it  can  eat 
white  bread  or  black.  It  is  not  out 
ward,  but  inward.  A  certain  openness 
of  mind  to  learn  the  daily  lessons  of 
the  school  of  life;  a  certain  willing 
ness  of  heart  to  give  and  to  receive  that 
extra  service,  that  gift  beyond  the  strict 
measure  of  debt,  which  makes  friend 
ship  possible;  a  certain  clearness  of 
spirit  to  perceive  the  best  in  things  and 
people,  to  love  it  without  fear  and  to 
cleave  to  it  without  mistrust;  a  peace 
able  sureness  of  affection  and  taste;  a 
gentle  straightforwardness  of  action;  a 
kind  sincerity  of  speech — these  are  the 
marks  of  the  simple  life.  It  cometh 
not  with  observation,  for  it  is  within 

[281] 


THE   SCHOOL  OF  LIFE 

you.  I  have  seen  it  in  a  hut.  I  have  seen 
it  in  a  palace.  And  wherever  it  is  found 
it  is  the  best  prize  of  the  school  of  life, 
the  badge  of  a  scholar  well-beloved  of 
the  Master. 


FINIS 


[282] 


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